Worst-Case Scenario
by Junesong55thunder
Summary: When Pope voices displeasure about the aliens around camp, some of his followers take things a lot further than he intended. Without Pope's knowledge they take Ben Mason as a hostage for leverage. After enduring what amounts to torture, Ben, Pope, and Lee must face a bitter reality in the aftermath of battle. Can Pope lead them in the rescue of the Second Mass? Ben Hurt/Comfort!
1. Shake Up Masonville

Chapter One

"Shake Up Masonville"

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"So this is the new order... the Mason administration. Friends to all," growled John Pope under his breath. He turned to watch as Tom Mason returned to camp with his two elder sons and a few of the Second Massachusetts. Some teenage razor-backs and many-legged "rebel" skitters accompanied them, and Pope saw Ben Mason approach the aliens after leaving the Mason huddle.

Pope watched as the middle Mason boy greeted his alien friends. There was a smile on the boy's face as one of the skitters appeared to joke around, and the other razor-backs laughed together. Pope looked far from amused... his dark expression left neither of his companions in any doubt about his feelings for aliens. He didn't like them - that much was clear, and judging by the sour looks on Lee's and Lyle's faces, they felt just about the same.

Another alien - a frog-headed "Volm" - got out of Mason's truck nearby. His flat, amphibian face was only visible for a moment before he turned and walked away, disappearing behind the caravan of vehicles.

"Any old alien that just happens to blow into our camp..." continued Pope. "The Volm... what a joke, what a... what a huge fucking mistake." His gaze was cold when he looked back over at Ben Mason's group of skitters and razor-backs.

"You say the word, boss," said Lyle from beside Pope. "Mexico is looking better and better to me every day."

Crazy Lee grinned crookedly on Pope's other side, showing off her stained teeth. "I need to work on my tan."

But Pope was having none of it. "No, it's not gonna be any better down there..."

With one last unreadable glance in Ben Mason's direction, he turned on his heel and walked away, with Crazy Lee and Lyle following closely behind him.

"Look," said Pope as they walked, "We got alien battalions trying to fry our ass... to hell with this." Suddenly he stopped walking and turned to face them. He tossed his bulky saddlebag at Crazy Lee, who barely caught it, and then shoved his rifle against Lyle's broad chest. He had relieved himself of almost everything he carried. "I'm gonna go begin my beer therapy a little early," he informed them with a flourish of a bow. "I'll be in the nest."

There was a makeshift alleyway to their right, hung with tattered canvas overhangs and dirty blankets. Pope strode away and disappeared through it without another word.

Lyle looked down at the rifle, then over at Crazy Lee.

She was looking back at him. "He's closer to blowing a gasket than he usually is," she said worriedly.

Lyle looked more frustrated than worried. His drawn face gave him a heavy, shadowed appearance, and it was a dangerous look on him.

"What are you thinking?" Said Crazy Lee gently, nudging Lyle with her elbow.

Lyle shoved his hands into his jacket pockets. "Pope doesn't want to go against the Masons," he answered quietly, glancing around to make sure no one was near enough to hear him. "He doesn't want to rattle the bars."

"Yeah... well none of us do. Not really a great for it, don't you think?"

Lyle snorted and shrugged one shoulder, looking back at Crazy Lee. "Something's gotta change around here... and fuck me if I just stand around till it's too goddamn late, Craze."

Crazy Lee's wild hair bounced around her face as she nodded. "But what can you do? People love them. Not our people, but, you know..."

"Theirs," supplied Lyle in a low voice. "But that ain't no excuse to sit around and wait for them damn aliens to pull a Judas on us."

Lyle looked over at Ben Mason across the street. At this distance, the kid's boyish features were clearly visible. He wore a tentative smile, as if the skitter had told another joke. One of the other razor-back kids clapped Ben on the back, laughing, and an easier grin lit Ben Mason's face.

Lyle scowled. "They're downright... _congenial._ The Masons are getting too close to the enemy and we can all see it, clear as day. Accepting them, working with 'em... and you never hear anyone talking about those spikes, do you?"... It was enough to drive Lyle straight off the nearest cliff.

"Naw... I see what you're saying, Lyle. It's like those spikes don't matter no more, but we still don't know nothing about them."

Lyle looked down at Crazy Lee and wrapped an arm around her shoulder. "I'm not saying Pope is chicken shit, but I sure as hell ain't scared." A gleam shone in his eyes. "Maybe it's high-time to shake up Masonville a little, Craze... For Pope's sake."

"What are you going to do?" Asked Crazy Lee. There was a touch of apprehension in her eyes.

Lyle squeezed the outside of her shoulder. "Find Billy and Mike, and Nathan. Mike will know where Tony and Lenny are, so find them, too. Bring as many as you can find to hack shack before nightfall."

"Why?" Asked Crazy Lee with a frown.

Lyle unwrapped his arm from Crazy Lee's shoulders and gave her a gentle shove. "Just do it, sweet cheeks." He patted her rear-end. "Get that pretty little ass on the move, and I'll explain when we're all together."

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...

Ben Mason leaned over a tall basin of water and splashed some cold liquid on his face.

"You coming, Benji?" Called Denny, a few yards away.

Ben Mason rolled his eyes, fighting a grin that Denny wouldn't be able to see. "I'll be right there," he said as he scrubbed his hands in the basin. "And... it's Ben."

Denny smiled widely, pausing where she stood to watch Ben from behind. "Don't be too long," she said after a moment, and she turned to join the others in the mess tent down the street.

Ben washed his hands thoroughly in the cool water. He rinsed water up his bare forearms, and bent forward to splash his face again.

The sound of hurried footsteps reached his ears, and he straightened up. With his face dripping, he turned around to look behind him, but no one was there.

Someone was probably worried all the food would be gone at this late hour, Ben decided. Probably rushing to get to the mess tent...

He turned back to the basin and rinsed his hands again, then bent forward and splashed his face one more time. The water revitalized him as it banished his fatigue into the far corners of his mind.

More footsteps sounded from behind him. Ben shook water out of his eyes as the footsteps approached and slowed. He wrung water off his hands and shook it out of his hair, then turned around again to see.

A man stood behind him, a few meters away. He was about a head taller than Ben, wearing a heavy jacket and carrying a rifle on his shoulder. Ben thought he recognized the man's scruffy face - one of Pope's berserkers, unless he was wrong - but he couldn't remember his name.

"Sorry..." said Ben, a little taken aback. He wiped his shirtsleeve across his wet face. "Did you say something?"

"Hey, it's no problem," said the man. He smiled widely and stepped closer. "You're Benji, right?"

Ben reacted well to the man's friendliness. "Ben. Denny's the only one who calls me Benji," he explained with a half-smile of his own.

"Denny?" Repeated the berserker. There was an air of friendly curiosity about him, and his manner was easy and calm. "He's the tall ginger, right?"

"No, Denny's a girl," said Ben. He wiped a drip of water from the bottom of his chin. "The captain sends us out together because of the, you know... the..." he gestured toward the back of his neck. "The spikes."

"Oh, yeah..." said the man with a slow nod of his head. Something had gleamed in his eyes for a fleeting moment, but it was gone as soon as Ben noticed it. "One of them raz- one of the de-harnessed kids. Like you."

Ben had heard a strange tone in the man's voice. He returned the man's smile slightly with a nod of his head.

"Name's Lyle, good to finally meet you," said the man abruptly. He strode closer and held out his hand to shake Ben's.

When Ben grasped Lyle's hand, he felt the man's fingers tighten painfully around his own.

Then Lyle released his hand and Ben withdrew it, rubbing his knuckles. "You too," he said, his voice a little subdued. He was tired... A little too tired to stand around and chat, and square up to anybody. He moved slightly but Lyle took a step, blocking his way.

"Oh, sorry," said Lyle with a chuckle. "I was just trying to get a look at those spikes. Been wondering about those a lot."

Ben gave half a low chuckle, feeling awkward. "There's... there's not much to see," he said, and turned his head slightly to give Lyle an unobstructed view. "It's all that's left of the harness... everything Dr. Glass couldn't take off."

Lyle seemed fascinated. He took a step closer, staring intently at the small, metallic spikes protruding from the base of the kid's neck. His eyes traveled down the small bumps in Ben's shirt, where other spikes were barely hidden along Ben's spine.

Ben was starting to feel uncomfortable. He straightened his posture, cutting off the man's view as he shifted his weight. "Well... I have to meet Denny in the mess tent. See you," he told Lyle, still friendly, and tried to side-step the much larger man.

But once again, Lyle blocked Ben's path. "Just a second," he said, clapping Ben briskly on the shoulder. "Why don't you come with me to the nest? I know a few people who would love to meet you face to face. Son of the esteemed Tom Mason?" A friendly grin curled the man's lips. "I'll let you have a beer, if you want."

Ben frowned a little. "The nest? You mean Pope's palace?"

"Well, hell yeah," chuckled Lyle. He still had Ben's shoulder in a gentle grip.

"Not tonight," said Ben after a moment. He didn't want to be rude, but he had a strange feeling in the pit of his stomach. "Sorry... I have to get going."

"C'mon... What's your hurry?"

"Nothing, I'm hungry." Ben didn't want to seem flustered. "I have to meet up with Denny and Hal before the good stuff is gone."

"We have all the good stuff in the nest, kid. Trust me."

Ben was beginning to lose his patience. "Sorry," he said with a shake of his head, and he stepped sideways to pass Lyle. His shoulder brushed Lyle's side as he tried to skirt around the much larger man.

But a hand closed around his upper arm, yanking him back around.

"Hey - !" said Ben quickly as he spun around. "What - ?"

But something cut off the word in his throat. Something had jabbed painfully into his side, and suddenly white-hot currents of electricity jolted through his body.

Ben choked on his own breath as his body seized up. His knees collapsed and he dropped to the ground on his side, rigid and stiff.

Lyle's boot nudged his shoulder and shoved him gently onto his back.

"You have other plans now," said Lyle in a much different voice. The man stood over Ben with one boot on either side of his ribs, holding him down by his chest. Ben locked eye contact, but he couldn't seem to speak. His throat muscles still contracted from the force of the electric charge.

Before Ben could recover his voice, Lyle removed his hand from the boy's chest and shoved a thick, black prod against his shoulder.

More waves of electricity coursed through Ben, throwing him into seizures. He couldn't think, see, or hear through the deafening roar in his ears. He couldn't draw a breath and small veins stood out on his neck as his eyes rolled and his muscles shook.

The next thing he knew, he was being lifted. He was thrown over Lyle's shoulder like a sack of potatoes. He bumped up, and down, and up, and down with Lyle's steps. He could only see blurred shapes and foggy edges as they passed through camp, but he was unable to make them out. There was a paralyzing screeching in his head, in his spikes, in every part of him - it was as if his spikes were being jammed on every possible frequency. Ben could barely move.

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...

When Ben returned to consciousness, it was very slowly. His eyelids felt heavier than rocks, and his breath was slow and labored. Without opening his eyes, he discerned that he was lying forward on his side against a cold surface. His forehead rested on damp cement.

There were sharp pains in his head and a low buzzing sound, like residual energy after a guitar string gets plucked too roughly.

He tried to draw a deeper breath, but his chest was sore. Everything was sore. His arms ached so badly...

That was when he realized that his arms were bound behind his back by cold metal handcuffs.

A dull burst of adrenaline helped him open his heavy eyelids. He blinked a few times. With every blink he felt a little less tired, and a little more clearheaded.

He raised his head off the cement.

He was in a candle-lit building with cavernous walls and a very high ceiling. It must have been some kind of factory floor before the invasion, but now glass littered the floor, and shards of splintery wood made some of the floor impassable.

"Hey," said Ben in a raspy voice, and coughed. "Hey, what's going... what's going on?"

He heard the loud scraping of several chair legs.

"He's awake."

"I know he's awake, you dumb shit. Shut up. Someone get Lyle."

There were hurried footsteps that receded in the opposite direction.

Ben tried to sit up. There was a wall behind him and he used it, propping himself backward as he tried to get his knees under him. "Hey, what the hell is going on?" He repeated and coughed again. His head swam and his vision darkened, and he fumbled backward against the wall, landing on his rear on the floor again.

There were peals of laughter. There must have been at least a handful of people in the room, but Ben couldn't see them. It was too dark and the candlelight only extended so far. His normally supernatural eyesight and hearing seemed muffled, and so did his head. He couldn't make them out in the darkness except their blurry shapes. He couldn't see them, but they could definitely see him.

To be continued...

Please review!


	2. Unnecessary Measures

Chapter Two

"Unnecessary Measures"

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Ben tried to get to his feet again, but a gruff voice ordered him to stay down. He peered into the darkness, counting a few more shadowy figures. Then the owner of the voice stepped further into the firelight, and a few others followed behind him. The first man was tall and dirty-faced, with skin that looked like leather and a scar under his eye. His blond hair was shaved almost to the skin. Ben recognized him and some of the others by their faces. They were berserkers, that much he knew, but he didn't know any of them by name.

"I know you..." he started to say, his voice still raspy.

"I said stay down," barked the tall man with the dirty face, advancing another step.

But Ben defied his command and continued to rise on unsteady legs, bracing himself on the wall behind him. "You don't have to do this."

"Do what?" Said the man with a strange smirk.

"I don't know," said Ben. He gazed imploringly from face to face. "Whatever you're doing - you don't have to, you can - "

"Let you go?" The man interrupted loudly, and there were guffaws behind him.

Ben's eyes fell on what the man was holding in his hand. It was a thick, black taser prod.

So that was what had hit him in the street - the electricity. That was what had sent his spikes into vibration.

The memory of the pain and the roaring noise still echoed in his mind.

"We can't let you go yet," said the man abruptly. He tapped the electric prod in the palm of his other hand. "I can see from your face you remember this little beauty, don't you? You remember what it did to you?" The man stepped closer, wielding the taser as if to use it.

Ben stiffened defensively and lowered his posture, his eyes on the taser.

"Don't want that to happen again, do you?" Prodded the man.

When Ben said nothing, he seemed to accept it as confirmation.

He gave a short nod of his head. "Well I don't want to have to use it on you, either. So stay put. And don't move around."

Ben's head was finally starting to clear. He remembered being stabbed in the neck by a needle...

Lyle had drugged him with something. That must have been why he passed out.

There was a flare of indignation in his chest. His back straightened and he stared at the scarred man, yanking his arms hard enough to feel the cold metal of the handcuffs bite into his wrists.

"Stop doing that!" Barked the man with a note of concern, gesturing sharply at Ben with the prod. "Stop! If you break those cuffs you'll get a belly full of this taser faster than you can blink, and you can count on it!"

Ben stopped yanking on his wrists and stared at the berserker, his forehead lined by his furrowed brows. "What do you want from me?"

"Don't go using that 'super strength' that you have to cause any more trouble, do you hear me?"

Ben didn't feel very strong at the moment, but he didn't want any of them to know that. "Please just tell me what you want..."

The man stepped back and started tapping the taser prod lightly in his palm again. "It's not for me to say."

"You're all part of the Second Mass. We fight on the same side, there has to be... there has to be a misunderstanding..."

"There's no misunderstanding." That voice didn't belong to the scarred man. It was Lyle pushing his way through the people gathered at the edge of the firelight. He stopped just behind the other man, who bowed out, passing the taser to Lyle and moving to one side.

Lyle stepped forward to the spot the other man had left, and looked down at Ben.

"Why am I here?" Ben asked, focusing on Lyle now. He gave his arms another yank. "Where are we?"

Lyle strode sideways and then back, and started to pace slowly without taking his eyes off Ben. "This used to be a dealership, if you can believe it," he answered conversationally, gesturing casually with the taser. "Harley Davidson. But after all these years, there's not a single ride left in this joint. Just a whole lot of nothing, miles outside camp..." he trailed off and turned a pointed stare toward Ben.

Ben said nothing, but his thoughts were racing. He followed Lyle's movement with his eyes.

Miles outside camp... that would be no problem to run, if he could manage to get out of here. And if he could get his strength back.

"So if you're thinking anyone would hear a yell for help, think again," continued Lyle, still pacing. "You're not leaving here until we get some things straightened out."

"Straightened out - but we're on the same side," Ben protested loudly.

Lyle stopped and faced him. "The Second Mass used to be an anti-alien operation," he said coldly. There was no more casual humor in his eyes. "But these days, seems the lines have gotten a little blurry. And that's what this is about, Ben."

Ben's head gave a nasty throb and his spikes twinged. He was trying hard to understand. "What do you mean? What is this?"

Lyle stared at Ben for a prolonged moment of tense silence. Then he set his jaw. "This is the way it has to be." He turned toward someone standing nearby. "Bring some water and something to eat. He's been out for a while. Even a razor-back has to eat." He looked slowly back over at Ben. "Or do you?"

Ben felt his heart sink into his stomach. So that was what this was about... He was never more conscious of the spikes sticking out of his spine than he was right then. "I..." he started to answer, but Lyle cut him off.

"Let's just say that the valuable citizens of Popetown have a right to know exactly what those things are on your back, and what it really means for us."

"They're just... I told you, they're just what's left after Dr. Glass got the harness off. They don't mean anything - "

Lyle's posture changed, his shoulders squaring, and his eyes sparking with anger. "If they don't mean anything, why do they make you different? Why are you stronger, faster, and better than anyone at everything you do?" Lyle's voice rose to a gravelly rumble, almost a yell. "Tell me, why can a skitter use your mouth like it's own and turn you into a puppet freakshow?"

"Puppet freakshow," someone laughed. "That would'a been a good movie."

"Open season on Ben Mason's mind," growled Lyle, fixing Ben with a hard stare. "You tell me, with all that, why should anyone believe you're not a threat?"

Ben looked unsteady under Lyle's tirade. He had stepped slightly back toward the wall despite himself. "I - I don't know," he stammered, and his eye contact wavered. "What the spikes do... I use it to fight the Espheni. I use it for us - "

"Until the next time a fish-head hijacks your plane, and your spikes glow, and you do their bidding and massacre the camp while they're asleep in their blankets."

"N-no, I would never hurt them," argued Ben in a louder voice. He was starting to feel a little desperate. "They don't control me like that, not since the harness!"

Lyle studied him closely, and Ben shifted under his gaze, forcing himself to meet the man's eyes once more.

After a moment, Lyle exhaled deeply. "I don't want to hurt you, Benji. Kid, some of these assholes want to shoot you dead." There were one or two whoops from the group but Lyle held up his hand. "No - but I said no, we can't kill him. We need to find out what we're working with here. We need to find out for ourselves."

Ben tried to calm himself but when he spoke, his voice cracked. "You have it all wrong about me."

"I guess we'll find out," said Lyle with a shrug. "You haven't helped yourself, Ben. All the evidence is against you so far, and nothing you said works in your favor. We have to go with the evidence we can see."

A short, round man appeared at Lyle's side with a dusty bottle of water and a cereal bar.

"Thanks, Lenny." Lyle took the two items from Lenny and tossed them to the floor at Ben's feet.

Ben looked down as the water bottle rolled to a stop against the wall. The cereal bar had landed nearby. With his hands cuffed behind his back Ben couldn't do anything, and he looked back up at Lyle, who smirked.

"Sit down," said Lyle.

Ben stared at him without moving a muscle.

"Sit your ass on the floor. NOW." Lyle advanced toward Ben, holding the taser forward as a clear warning.

"Wait," said Ben quickly. His back touched the wall again and his eyes were on the taser.

"Five seconds!" Barked Lyle, close enough touch Ben without fully extending his arm. "Five... four... "

A crackle of electricity arced across the tip of the taser and Ben's breath caught in his throat.

"Three... two... one."

"Okay!" Said Ben, clenching his hands into fists behind his back. "Okay, just wait..."

Slowly, he lowered himself down. He kept his feet under him, and stopped when his knees touched the hard floor. He sat backward on his heels.

"All the way!" Ordered Lyle, thrusting the taser forward.

Ben could feel the heat from it on his chest. He didn't want to sit all the way. He wanted to keep his feet under him; otherwise he was too vulnerable.

"ALL THE WAY!"

"Alright! I'm sitting," gasped Ben, and he appeared to start doing so. He pulled one foot out from under him, his knee bent, still somewhat crouching.

"I swear to Christ, kid, if your ass is not on that floor the next time I blink I will personally - "

The rest of Lyle's threat was cut off.

Ben had spun on his heel and dived sideways, kicking Lyle's leg out from under him as he went. In the same movement, he rolled across the bulkier man, and his bound hands whisked a knife off of Lyle's belt before his momentum brought him back to his feet. Someone charged him from behind, and someone from the side. He ducked and dodged two heavy arms, twisting his body mid-jump to land a powerful kick to one of them, which sent the berserker flying into his companion.

Other berserkers converged on him. Ben leapt high into the air and kicked off someone's chest to propel even higher, clearing the circle and landing in a roll. He timed it perfectly - his roll brought him to a crow bar and he struck his wrists against it as hard as he could. The metal piece connecting the cuffs broke apart, and his arms were free, but the time he had taken to do it had brought the berserkers up around him again. The big hall was so full of shouting that Ben couldn't even make out words.

With the stolen knife in his hand, Ben jumped behind one of them and wrapped his arm around the man's throat, holding the knife to his jugular. "Back up!" He shouted at the others, and pressed the knife harder into the man's neck. He vaguely registered that he was holding Lenny, the short man who had brought the food and water.

Lenny didn't fight him very hard. He held up his gun, his free hand open in a gesture of surrender. "Don't be too hasty, Mason," he murmured. He lifted his chin to avoid the blade.

"I just want to leave," said Ben breathlessly. "Just let me go, and no one else has to get hurt."

The other berserkers had backed off a little, parting their ranks to let Lyle through. Ben was pleased to see that Lyle now walked with a limp.

"Just let me walk out of here," insisted Ben urgently. The knife in his hand drew a thin stream of blood from the side of Lenny's neck.

Lyle held up his hands, too. He held no weapon. "Easy, chief," he said gruffly. "Just take it easy. Lower that knife, and we can think about making an agreement."

"No," breathed Ben. "Just put down your weapons and let me leave. I'll cut him!" The knife pressed a little harder, and Lenny made a small sound of pain.

"Wooaahh," said Lyle quickly. "Alright, you got me over a barrel, kid. Just put down the knife."

"Put down your guns first!"

But Lyle's facial expression had changed. Ben stared at him, trying to read it in the flickering light. He looked like he was holding back a smile.

Suddenly and without warning, something struck his lower back, and electricity coursed through his body. His muscles froze and his spikes jammed as pain jolted through him like fiery knives. Noise exploded in his skull. Someone had gotten him with the taser from behind.

He didn't realize his knees had collapsed, or that Lenny had been electrocuted, too, and had fallen on top of him. He lay rigidly on the floor with his back arched, gasping through his paralyzed throat.

Lenny rolled off of him and stumbled to all fours, shaking. "God damn it... God damn it, Mike. You could'a warned me..."

"Look, it's just like I said. See how bad it affects him?" Said Lyle's voice.

"Yeah. What is that, the spikes?"

"Yep. I'm pretty sure it's something about the spikes."

...

...

...

The voices of the berserkers were distant, quiet noises amid a thundering, roaring, deafening storm that had erupted in Ben's mind.


	3. Power

Chapter Three

"Power"

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...

...

"This time make sure he can't bust out."

"I checked and re-checked him, boss. Not even Clark Kent could snap that much chain link without some leverage."

"If he gets out and runs back to camp, we're through. They'll probably execute us for traitors. So... speaking of leverage."

"The kid."

"That kid is our ticket to a regime change around here. We need this to go our way and we only have one shot."

"What about his spikes? I don't like how they're glowing on and off like that..."

"I don't like anything about them, Mike. We're going to learn what we can about them, but with what we already know it's a safe bet that we're right. Those things compromise the safety of everyone in the camp."

Mike Hana nodded, and his hardened expression was unreadable. The light from the flickering candles illuminated the scar under his eye, deep-set in his leathery skin, and he rubbed his hand over his shaved, blond head. "Are those your orders or Pope's?" He asked nonchalantly.

Beside him, Lyle Briggs shifted upward in his chair. "Mine. Pope doesn't know yet."

The two men sat in chairs beside a weapons table that was dotted with small candles. They held playing cards in their hands. Nearby, a narrow mahogany pillar rose to the high, dark ceiling, and at the base of it was Ben.

Ben was sitting on his heels, one knee on either side of the pillar. He was bound to it face-forward, his shoulder resting against it and his head lolling sideways. His arms stretched around it, chained heavily.

He was unconscious. The chains and the pillar were the only thing keeping him off the floor.

For the time being the men were mostly ignoring their hostage. There were playing cards in their hands, and they passed a beer back and forth.

Mike gave Lyle a sideways look. "You the big man now?" He said after a minute, with a hint of challenge in his voice.

Lyle looked grim in the shadowy, orange light. His broad frame was a dark silhouette against dozens of flickering flames. "No. I just don't want to bring Pope in until I have something to show him."

Mike sneered as he rearranged the cards in his hand. "Fuck Pope," he advised with a laugh. "Take some of that power for yourself. You worked for it."

Lyle gave Mike a stern, calculating look and shook his head. "Nah, Mike. That's not the plan."

"Hey, I wouldn't blame you," said Mike, but he held up his hands in surrender. "It would mean you're human, mean you're a man. Right? A man's only worth what he conquers."

Before Lyle could respond they heard the scraping of the lock on the other side of the building. The door squeaked as it swung open and closed, and footsteps sounded on the hard floor as a man approached the firelight. "Here to relieve you, Lyle," said Tony Cutter as he walked into the firelight. He was a wiry, brown-skinned man who wore a ripped, gray beanie on his head, and sported a bushy, gray beard. He sat down in a vacant chair in the silence that followed, and cast a questioning stare between the other two. "Is Mike talking shit on me again? It's all lies," he joked.

The three of them chuckled for a few moments, exchanging greetings. Then Lyle slapped his hands on the front of his thighs and stood up. "Well... I gotta rotate back to camp before anyone starts to wonder."

"Have a beer for me," said Mike, tipping up the one in his hand.

"I'll do some recon," said Lyle as he zipped his jacket. "Find out how much time we have before lift-off. I'll be back to relieve you in a couple hours, but Mike?"

"Yeah, boss."

"Come and get me the second he wakes up."

"No problem," said Mike, nodding. "We got this."

When Lyle left, the sound of his footsteps receded through the cavernous room until the distant door had closed and locked behind him. It left the building in relative silence, and now unsteady breaths could be heard.

Mike looked down at Ben Mason. He couldn't see the boy's eyes because Ben's head had drooped forward. The spikes on the back of his neck were clearly visible. They glowed faintly in intermittent bursts.

Mike tapped his fingers on the table beside the taser prod.

"Shame," said Tony, breaking the silence. "Strong, good-looking kid like him."

Mike raised his eyebrows. As he gazed down at Ben, his eyes seemed a little distant. There was a slight glaze about them as he watched the prisoner.

"You know what I mean? He could've had a future."

"Right..." said Mike softly, with a brief nod of his chin. "Potential."

Tony picked up the hand of cards that Lyle had laid down. "Do you wonder if we're doing the right thing here?" He asked casually.

Hearing that, Mike's gaze sharpened into focus. "What's that?" He demanded, fixing Tony with a level stare.

"Nothing, man... just asking if you thought about where that line is, and if we're crossing it."

Mike's eyes smoldered angrily. "Lyle's been our backbone for how many years? I don't know, I lost count. He was with us before Pope, and a hell of a long time before you stumbled in. It's a little late to go back, don't you think? It's a little late for cold feet."

"I don't have cold feet," said Tony calmly, flicking the corner of a playing card. "Don't split your liver... Come on. Let's get back to the game."

Mike watched him for a long moment. He seemed to be studying him, but Tony refused to give in to that x-ray of a stare.

"What?" Barked Tony.

Finally Mike picked up his cards to arrange them. "Your draw."

...

...

...

Tom Mason awoke abruptly to a sense of mild unease. A feeling that he needed to get moving - to get up and go, and get something done. He sat on the edge of a rugged cot with a wool blanket draped over one knee and rubbed a hand over his face.

In the cot next to him, Anne stirred. "Tom?" She murmured sleepily.

Tom turned on the cot, smiling gently. "I didn't mean to wake you," he said quietly, leaning over to kiss her briefly, a peck on the lips. Then he got to his feet.

"Where are you going?" Murmured Anne. "Come back to bed. We can push the cots together again."

Normally, Tom would not have declined such a tempting offer. But this morning he already had plans. "I thought I would get an early start with Weaver this morning," he explained, and started to dress. "There are a few new maps to look over. New intelligence from Cochise about enemy movement."

Anne gave a long and tired sigh, but there was a smile on her face as she rested back against the pillow. "Always at work," she demurred.

"Only until this war is over," said Tom fondly. He pulled on his jacket and tugged it close around his shoulders. "Get a little more sleep, Anne. The infirmary will still be here when the sun comes up."

Tom made his way through camp in the dull gray light of pre-dawn. His breath made small puffs in the air, and he tugged up the collar of his jacket against the chill. No one else was awake yet, and there were was no movement in the communal areas as he strode briskly down the street.

Captain Dan Weaver was already in the situation tent when Tom arrived. The captain was leaning over a large table on which he had laid a large, canvas map. Small red and blue pins dotted the surface of the map, and words had been written in red along the edges.

"Morning," Tom greeted Dan. He dropped his pack into a chair and joined the Captain beside the table. "What do we have here?"

"Morning Tom," said Dan with a nod of his head. His signature baseball cap was nowhere to be seen at this early hour. "I'm afraid it doesn't look good."

"Talk to me," said Tom, frowning. The two men leaned over the map.

But the door flap of the tent whipped open behind them, causing them to stop and turn around.

Pope strode in, looking as friendly as usual, his face a picture of dry distaste.

"Morning Pope," said Dan. "Didn't think we would be seeing you so early."

"What do they say? Early bird kills the alien." Pope made a theatrical flourish of his arms. "Yeah, that's it. What, Tom, you thought you were gonna play 'skitter massacre' without John Pope's backseat driving?"

"We're not massacring anyone yet. We're still in the planning stages," said Dan, gesturing toward the map.

"Oh, that's right." Pope walked forward and looked down at the map, crossing his arms. "And the alien gave you all this information?"

"Cochise," said Tom pointedly.

"That's what I said," said Pope in a low voice, fixing Tom with a challenging stare.

"It's too damn early for arguing," said Dan loudly. "What are you doing here, Pope?"

Pope was still staring at Tom, and it was Tom he spoke to when he answered. "If you don't like seeing my face this early in the morning, tell your half-breed son to keep his skitters away from my tent. You've never started off a day so wrong until you wake up to that abomination of a creature with the devil's red eye poking around your shit."

Tom stared furiously at Pope for a moment without speaking. "Did you walk into this tent just to start a fight, Pope?" He demanded loudly.

"I don't have a lot of reason to go places these days," said Pope with a shrug of his shoulders. "You just tell him the next time I catch a skitter sniffing around my tent, I'll take it out on him, and I'll take it out on you."

"Put a lid on it, Pope, or this boot is going up your ass," warned Dan, squaring his shoulders to Pope.

Pope looked between the two of them. His expression was a mixture of dry humor and bottomless frustration. "Fine," he said, raising his hands. "Fine. There's no talking sense to you people."

...

...

...

Ben woke up feeling like he had been hit by a beamer. His head ached and his stomach was roiling. He had lost all feeling in his hands and feet.

He raised his head, opening his mouth to draw in a few short breaths.

"Look who finished his beauty sleep," said a familiar voice.

Ben blinked heavily. He was still in the same building as before. But now he was chained to something, his arms wrapped around it, hugging it. He couldn't move.

There was a cluster of chairs and a table nearby, and two of the chairs were occupied.

Ben's eyes focused on the two men. The blond man with the scar had turned in his chair. Mike... that was his name. And another man; a stranger.

"You're not looking too good, Benji," said Mike with an air of concern. "Something about that taser... But you didn't give me any other choice. Now you know not to do stupid things."

Ben fought to keep his head up. Something had happened to him when the taser hit for the second time. Something was very wrong... There was a constant, dull vibration in the back of his spine, and it was turning his muscles to jelly.

"Damn... it really does you in." Mike wore a strange, anticipatory smile. The man's chair scraped on the floor as he stood up and faced the other berserker. "We have our orders, Tony."

Tony stood up too, and fixed Mike with an expectant stare.

After a moment, Mike widened his eyes and raised his eyebrows. "Get going."

Tony grumbled something about the division of labor, but he turned and left the candlelight, and Ben heard him leave the building.

Mike crouched down in front of Ben, putting them at eye level. "No more bullshit, kid," he growled. "I know when I'm being lied to."

Ben struggled to lift his head again and look at Mike. "I haven't lied to you," he ground out. He fought down a surge of nausea, and his eyes left Mike to look down at the floor again. He didn't want to be sick.

There was nothing but the sound of their breathing for a moment. Then Mike reached for something on the table. It was the bottle of water. He twisted the cap off and raised it to Ben's lips, tilting it. "Here... drink," he commanded gently.

Ben was slow to react. He barely turned his chin toward the bottle, drinking a little but spilling most of it down his neck. As the water filtered into his belly, Ben was surprised to find that the cool liquid immediately calmed his stomach, and eased his headache. But it did nothing to change the terrible notes of pain vibrating through his spine.

Mike lifted the bottle away from Ben's mouth, and Ben lowered his chin. He wouldn't stoop so low as to ask for more.

"Tell me, Ben," said Mike in a more serious tone. "How do the skitters use the spikes on your back to communicate?"

Ben licked his lips for the moisture. He tried to think of a response. What answer would get him out of this? What would make it worse? Everything he had said so far had fallen on deaf ears.

Mike didn't look happy about his silence. The man pressed a hand under Ben's jaw and lifted his chin. "Answer me, Ben. How do they tune their thoughts through your spikes like a radio?"

"I don't know," said Ben on a tight exhale. His neck strained backward as Mike forced his head further up by the jaw. "I don't know!"

"Think harder!" Barked Mike. His grip tightened.

"The spikes - " panted Ben, "It's because I was harnessed, that's all I know."

"I know it's because of the spikes. But how do they connect with you? What happens if your spikes are gone - could the enemy still control you?"

Mike's hand started cutting off Ben's air. Ben choked, fighting to draw a breath and arching backward from the pillar. Mike loosened his grip a little, allowing Ben to cough a couple times. "I - don't know!" Gasped Ben. "No - the enemy doesn't control me, I told you - "

Mike leaned very close, so close that Ben could feel the man's ripe breath on his face. Ben tried to turn his face away, but Mike shook him roughly by the jaw. The man's grip forced Ben to keep looking up. "If they don't control you..." murmured Mike in a deadly whisper, leaning even closer, "That means you let them do it. Benji... kid... why would you let the enemy use your mouth like a soldier uses a whore?"

...

...

...


	4. Entanglement Theory

Chapter Four

"Entanglement Theory"

...

...

...

Pope sat at a picnic table underneath a yellow canopy, sipping on a mug of coffee. His mood was foul... he had never woken up as roughly as he had that morning, with a giant cockroach rustling around in the darkness.

He was within earshot when Denny, the de-harnessed girl who spent a lot of time with Ben Mason, pulled up a chair outside the mess tent. Denny joined Maggie and Hal, who shifted position to include her in their conversation.

"You okay, Denny?" Asked Maggie, and Pope listened from a distance.

"Yeah... I just feel a little under the weather," answered Denny. Her back was toward Pope. "Have either of you seen Ben?"

Hal and Maggie shook their heads. They both had somewhat concerned expressions on their faces as they regarded Denny. "You look tired," said Maggie gently. "Maybe you should get a little rest."

"No," muttered Denny, shaking her head. "I'm not tired. Listen, I'm trying to find Ben. He was supposed to meet me last night, and he wasn't at his cot this morning when I looked."

Hal and Maggie exchanged a troubled glance.

"I'm sure he just got an early start," Hal assured Denny with a smile. "You know how he is about the hunt."

"No... he never went to bed at all last night."

Hal frowned. "Well how do you know that?"

Denny didn't answer for a moment, but then she finally responded. "I left something on his pillow. He never touched it."

Maggie looked like she was blushing for a moment. She beamed silently at Denny.

Pope rolled his eyes and looked up at the yellow canopy.

Hal seemed to be a little less taken with Denny's romantic gesture. "That's not like him," he said, looking at Maggie. "Not to come back at all?" He frowned and shook his head. "That's a little weird."

Denny nodded. "I just really want to find him," she said in a quieter tone. Pope looked subtly back over at the group.

"Yeah, I hear you," said Hal. He stood up, followed by both Denny and Maggie. "We'll find him. Don't worry, alright? Hey... maybe get yourself over to the infirmary and have Anne take a look at you. You don't look good, Denny."

Denny nodded slightly. She gripped Hal's arm, then let him go.

Pope watched as Maggie and Hal turned and walked away, presumably in search of the wayward Mason. Denny turned the other way and walked toward Pope.

As the teenager was about to pass him, Pope spoke up. "Am I looking at the new Mrs. Ben Mason?" He joked tactlessly.

Denny turned her eyes toward him, and Pope saw how tired and ill she looked. For some reason it took the comedy right out of him.

"Have you seen him?" Asked Denny tensely.

"Who, Ben? No... sorry," said Pope. His voice still managed to sound dry through his sudden awkward sensitivity. "Why don't you... you should check the outposts. Your kind like to hang out around the perimeter, don't you?"

"No," muttered Denny as she continued past him. "I already checked." She walked away from Pope and turned a corner.

Pope watched where the de-harnessed girl had disappeared. There was an odd look on his face, a strange pursing of his lips and furrowing of his brow. He blinked, and put down his mug of coffee without finishing it.

...

...

...

Mike let go of Ben's jaw, and Ben turned his face away as much as the mahogany pillar would allow.

"This doesn't have to be so hard," said Mike in a gentler voice. He held the bottle of water in one hand and the taser prod in the other. He still crouched in front of Ben, much too close for comfort. "You want some more?"

Ben swallowed past the tightness in his throat and didn't respond.

"I asked you a question. You want another drink of water?"

Slowly, Ben shook his head.

"Look, maybe we got off on the wrong foot," suggested Mike calmly. "Is it the scar? You know, you shouldn't judge people on what they look like. Pretty boy like you wouldn't learn that lesson so young."

Ben remained quiet, but Mike pressed him.

"It was probably the taser, right? But like I said, Benji, you gave me no choice."

"You do have a choice," said Ben in a voice that shook slightly. "You always do."

Mike paused, eyeballing the boy. Then a cruel smile twisted his lips. "You're right. I know I said I didn't want to use that thing on you, but Christ... what a rush."

Ben shut his eyes and silently tried to contain his helplessness. He needed to think of a plan... he needed an escape route. But he couldn't seem to think clearly enough for it. He couldn't think past the painful, vibrating sensation running through the entire center of his body.

When Lyle arrived, he brought a few more berserkers with him. Mike went to greet them in the dim light of early morning, and Ben strained to hear what they were saying.

"...nothing yet," said Lyle in an undertone.

"Good," came Mike's voice. "Then we have time to have some fun."

"It's not about fun. It's about power. It's about taking power back from the Masons."

"Speaking of powers, did he go super freak while we were gone?"

There was a laugh. "I don't think he has it in him, to be honest. If he stood up I could knock him over with my little finger."

There was a moment of silence. Then...

"Good," said Lyle. "That will make everything a lot easier for us."

"Yep. Long as it lasts. Don't forget about the healing factor."

"He won't get the drop on us again."

Pause.

"Hey boss, did you see Pope at camp?" Asked Mike's voice.

The rustling of fabric indicated a nod of Lyle's head. "He doesn't know shit. But the red-eyed skitter..."

"I noticed, too," said Tony grimly.

"Yeah. I think it knows something. So the faster we get to business, the better."

Ben sensed a shift of attention in the room, and his heart skipped a beat. A moment later, Lyle led the small group toward him across the floor.

Ben forced himself to raise his head and meet Lyle's eyes as the man approached.

Lyle had acquired the taser prod from Mike, who was right behind him.

"That was really unfortunate," said Lyle briskly, a stern reprimand toward Ben. "Whatever the fuck that does to you, it's not good. Jesus..." Lyle observed the boy's pallid complexion, and the sweat standing out on his forehead. "It's really not good..."

"Lyle," said Ben hoarsely under his breath, holding the man's gaze. His words sounded sluggish in his mouth. "Lyle, listen to me... just let me go. I'll forget about it... I'll forget this happened."

"I'm sorry, Ben," said Lyle as he approached nearer. "But I can't do that. Anyway, it hasn't even happened yet."

Ben shivered in a cold sweat. "Just let me up..."

"You want to get up?"

Ben stared at Lyle without blinking. "Yes."

Lyle grinned. "People in hell want slurpies."

...

...

...

A gunshot rang through camp, followed by a furious yell.

"GET OUT! GET THE FUCK OUT!"

The red-eyed skitter careened out of an alleyway, followed by Pope, who was waving a pistol in the air.

"I HOPE YOU'RE READY TO DIE, COCKROACH!"

Tom Mason and Dan Weaver ran out of the situation tent into the street.

"Pope!" Roared Dan as he strode toward Pope and the skitter. "Tell me you did not open fire on a friendly inside the perimeter!"

"Oh, I wasn't trying to kill it, but hand to God I'm ready to!"

The red-eyed skitter had a somewhat urgent air about him. He approached those gathered, each in turn, letting out creaks of sound and shrill whistles.

"SHUT UP!" Yelled Pope. "Get the fuck out of here, demon! I told you, Tom, if I found that thing in my stuff again you would pay."

"Stand down, Pope! You are causing a domestic disturbance here, and you're scaring a whole lot of innocent civilians," commanded Dan.

There were worried faces peering from almost every tent.

In the infirmary at the other end of camp, Anne Glass was attending to Denny. The young girl sat on a table with her feet dangling as Anne shone a flashlight into the back of her throat.

"And these symptoms began this morning?" Asked Anne, putting away the flashlight and picking up her stethoscope.

Denny shivered. "Last night," she corrected. Her skin was much paler than usual, and her eyes were red.

Anne listened to the girl's heartbeat and breathing through the stethoscope, moving the instrument up and down across Denny's chest and back. "Your lungs sound clear," she commented, listening intently. "You're pulse is steady. But your temperature is a little high." Anne took the ear pieces out of her ears and hung the instrument around her neck. She pressed the heel of her palm gently against Denny's forehead. "I think what you have is a run-of-the-mill virus, my friend." She dropped her hand and smiled at Denny. "You just need to let it run it's course, and rest."

Denny gazed at Anne with wide eyes. "I don't think that's all it is," she said, almost too quietly to hear.

Anne's smile flickered. "What do you mean?"

"It's just... look," whispered Denny, sitting forward. She pulled the hood of her sweatshirt to one side so that Anne could see the spikes on the back of her neck. The spikes were flickering on and off, and glowing repeatedly.

The smile slid off Anne's face and a frown darkened her eyes. "What..." she murmured, taking Denny's hood in her hand and pushing up the girl's hair with her other hand, keeping it away from the glowing spikes. "Have they ever done this before?"

Denny shook her head.

"Okay... okay, don't worry," said Anne, snapping into reassurance mode. This was a new development, and she looked thoroughly unsure, but her bedside manner won out. "We'll figure out why that's happening, okay? Just bear with me."

"Okay," said Denny softly. Her eyes were a little glazed. "Will we find Ben?"

This brought another frown to Anne's face. "Where's Ben?"

"I don't know."

Anne hesitated, and then opened her mouth to ask more, but suddenly Denny sat up straight as an arrow. The tired look had gone from her eyes, and now her spikes glowed brightly.

"Denny!" Anne said quickly, taking the girl by both shoulders.

But Denny pushed Anne's hands away. "Move aside, doctor," she said in a much steadier voice, and she slid off the examination table. She pushed past Anne and left the infirmary without another word, and Anne ran outside behind her.


	5. Other Plans

Chapter Five

"Other Plans"

...

...

...

Everyone who was gathered in the street grew still when Denny walked rigidly through their ranks, heading directly for the red-eyed skitter. Denny's spikes were glowing brightly.

When she reached the skitter's side she ignored Pope, turning instead toward Tom. "I fear there has been a complication, Tom-Mason," said Denny in a voice very unlike her own. Her tone was slightly deadpan and her eyes were blank and staring, but beside her, the skitter started to animate, moving it's limbs as if in speech. "I do not yet know its nature, but it would be logical to assume your son is part of it."

Tom glanced at Dan. Then he took a few steps forward to address the skitter. "Which son?" He asked sharply.

"The son that is missing," answered the skitter in Denny's voice. "Your middle child... My friend."

"Ben's missing - ?" A worried frown darkened Tom's brow. "What are you talking about?"

"Your son Ben has been compromised. The frequency by which we communicate has been jammed and I cannot reach him."

Tom looked both angry and confused. He stared daggers at the red-eyed skitter. "What... what the hell could do something like that?" He stammered.

"There are several things capable of interrupting our frequencies. I would not guess what has caused this, nor would I speculate on its meaning. But I have discerned that wherever Ben is, he is in distress."

"What the hell does that mean?" Growled Tom, advancing. "Does the enemy have him somehow?"

"I do not know," said Denny's voice calmly, and there was a strangely understanding look on the skitter's angled face. "That is why we must work together closely. Your son is very important to me, Tom-Mason. We must organize a search."

Tom looked to the people gathered around the street. No one was bothering to remain hidden in their tents anymore, and a crowd had gathered. "Has anyone seen my son Ben?" Demanded Tom loudly, staring from face to face. There were murmurings among them, glances exchanged, and no one had seen him.

When the skitter spoke through Denny again, the murmuring subsided. "Tom-Mason... we must begin within." In explanation, both Denny and the skitter turned slowly to look at Pope, who still stood nearby.

Denny lifted her arm to point straight at him.

Pope looked incredulous, and more than a little perturbed. "Me?" He yelled angrily, thumping his pistol against his chest. "You think I did something to your frequency? Buddy, I don't know what the fuck your frequency is, but I can tell you one thing - it's two scoops of nuts." He tapped his temple with the pistol and raised his eyebrows at Tom.

"I did not accuse you," said the skitter through Denny's lips. "But you will cooperate with our efforts, will you not?"

Tom gazed perplexedly between Pope, Denny, and the red-eyed skitter.

After a few beats, Pope laughed without any humor. "I don't know what kind of fruit loops you had for breakfast, skitter, but you're barking up the wrong tree."

"Pope," said Tom urgently. He stepped into the center of the gathering and beseeched the man. "Do you know anything about this?"

For once, Pope didn't give a sarcastic response. He squared up to Tom, and answered with an almost civil tongue in his head. "No. I haven't seen your skitter-whispering little prince, Tom. The only Masons I've seen today are you and Hal."

The red-eyed skitter regarded Pope, tilting its head to one side. It made a creaking sound and trilled shrilly, followed by another short creak. Then it turned its head and looked at Tom. "Perhaps he is telling the truth," said the skitter through Denny. "I do not sense a lie. But last night Ben passed near the establishment some of you refer to as 'the nest.' His scent marked the street in front of it."

"That kid wanders all over the place," growled Pope. "It doesn't mean he was in there."

The skitter nodded in acknowledgment. "It does not. But I have seen that you, John-Pope, are a general authority in that region of the camp. As such, you may be able to help us."

Pope stared at the skitter wordlessly for a long moment. Finally, he exhaled a long breath and looked at Tom. "Fine," he said shortly. "I'll find your prodigal son, Mason. You just stay out of my way. You too, skitter - I don't want to see your face for a long time. BERSERKERS!"

A few men broke ranks from the crowd at Pope's summoning.

Pope counted them. "Where are Mike and Lyle? Where's Crazy Lee?"

"I don't know, boss," someone said. "Probably banging it out in the nest like usual."

Pope rolled his eyes. "Someone find them and drag their asses out of bed. The rest of you, follow me. We'll take the bikes and circle around - see what we can see."

Tom looked surprised and grateful. "Take this," he threw a radio at Pope, who caught it. "Channel 3. Let me know what you find. I'll get a group organized and we'll take the southeast roads."

Pope gave an abrupt nod and walked off with the berserkers, stuffing the radio into his jacket.

...

...

...

The old Harley Davidson dealership was located in a rural town on the edge of a dense wildlife preserve. It was well-hidden among the trees, because the large sign and the winding driveway had long since crumbled and gone to weed. There was no outward sign of any activity inside, and all the windows were boarded up. The building was two stories, with a large, paved lot carved into the side of the hill.

Debris from air fights littered the open lot, almost obscuring it from view, and storms had blown heavy tree limbs across its width.

Five dirt bikes were hidden around the corner of the dealership, buried under branches. One berserker was inside and the other four stood close together outside. Mike, Lyle, Lenny and Crazy Lee were having a hushed conversation among the branches.

"How much time do we have?" Asked Lyle grimly.

"I'll try to steer them clear of here for now, but no guarantees," said Lenny. "Plus... that skitter can track a scent like a dog... who knew?"

Lyle looked disconcerted by that news, but Mike smirked. "It's about time. I thought we might have to wait for days."

"We don't have all the munitions yet," said Lyle to Mike. "I don't know if we're ready."

"The boys are bringing the heavy artillery. They'll get it here, Lyle. And when they do, we're gonna rip this 'administration' a new asshole."

Lyle looked like he wanted to be convinced. He rubbed his hands together pensively, keeping his cool. "Okay," he said quietly. "Alright. We need all the time we can get. Lenny... get on that. Lead them away, and don't let them run into the arms transpo on its way here."

Lenny began to uncover his bike, and backed it toward the debris-covered road. "Roger," he said, getting on and turning the key. "I'll do my best."

"Fuck your best," said Mike shortly. "Just get it done."

Once Lenny had ridden away, Mike shook his head. "Pussy."

Lyle looked at Crazy Lee. He gently nudged her from the side. "You've been pretty quiet, Craze."

Crazy Lee looked up at him. She didn't look happy. "You already know what I'm thinking."

"Yeah, we all know what you think," said Mike dryly. "God didn't make girls like you to think."

"Shut up, Mike," said Lyle defensively. He wrapped an arm around Crazy Lee's shoulder. "We all have our problems - like you, you're dumb as shit. That's a problem."

Mike's eyes gleamed and his nostrils flared, but he appeared to contain his temper. He breathed through his nose for a few more seconds, grinding his teeth. Then he managed to speak. "Soon this will be a real hostage situation," he said in a deadly calm tone. "When that happens, your alien experiments will be over and I'll be the one in his element. What will you be?"

Lyle raised an eyebrow. "What do you think? I'll be sitting next to Crazy Lee having myself a nice little cocktail."

For an instant, it looked like Mike wanted to hit him. His hands balled into fists and his lips turned white. "It's your own ass if you don't pony up," he ground out from between his teeth.

When the taller man didn't make a move on him, Lyle gave him another hard look, then shrugged his shoulders. "What's life if you can't laugh while you're getting fucked in the ass?" He looked down at Crazy Lee, held against his side. "Time's not on our side today. Let's get back up there." He tried to walk toward the door, his arm still wrapped around her shoulder.

But she pulled away from him, and ducked out from under his arm.

Lyle turned around to face her, and she fixed him with an indignant stare. "Don't do this, Craze," said Lyle softly.

"You know how I feel," said Crazy Lee, her brows drawn together with agitation. "And I don't want to go back."

"Lee," begged Lyle, walking up to her. "I need you."

She stared up into his eyes as he looked into hers. "Are you going to kill him?"

"No," said Lyle with a shake of his head. "That's a promise."

She still stared at him.

After a moment of silence, Mike cleared his throat and stepped up behind them. "Are we done here, or do the two of you want to get a room? I'm in the mood for something better today."

Lyle raised his eyebrows at Crazy Lee and stepped forward, clasping the sides of her shoulders. "Please."

She blinked at him, her forehead lined with tension.

...

Ben's arms and hands tingled with reduced blood flow. His legs were still asleep under him, but Tony had loosened the chains binding his arms to the pillar. Not a lot - just enough to give Ben a little wiggle room.

At the moment there was no one else in the room except Tony. The brown-skinned berserker had given Ben more water, and tried to talk with him a few times. He had tried to get him to eat, but Ben had refused.

Now Tony sat stiffly in one of the chairs with the water bottle in one hand and the cereal bar in the other. He threw a somewhat worried glance in Ben's direction. "You sure you're not hungry?" He asked again.

Ben shook his head. "No. I just need to get out of here," he said in a ragged whisper. He rested his temple against the mahogany pillar. "I just need to leave."

Tony didn't offer a response. The man's eyes were dark and shadowed, dimly lit by rays of sun that filtered down through the single unboarded window.

He put down the water and the cereal bar on the table. Then he picked up a rusty blade from the table and started wiping it down.

But when Tony didn't answer, a terrible feeling of helplessness began to deflate Ben's hopes. Until now, he hadn't allowed any such thing to enter his mind. He had forced it out. But chained in that position, with no sensation in his limbs... unable to move... what could he do?

"Tony," rasped Ben. He tried to clear his throat.

Tony stopped cleaning his blade for a moment to look back over at Ben. He had the air of someone bracing for something painful.

Ben didn't know what he had been expecting. He'd said everything he could say, more than once... maybe he thought Tony would keep ignoring him. But he didn't, and Ben didn't know how much more he could say. He stumbled over his words when he spoke. "I... I'm telling you the truth. You have to believe m - me."

Tony stared at Ben without saying anything. He had paused in the act of cleaning the blade and his posture was unmoving, his face unreadable.

Ben couldn't tell if he was going to respond. His chin raised hopefully a fraction of an inch.

But he didn't get the chance to find out what Tony might have said.

There was a clanging sound, and the door opened on the other side of the room, letting in a swath of sunlight. Then the light was blocked again. Four berserkers made their way across the floor in the direction of Tony and Ben.

A surge of adrenaline burned in Ben's stomach. His eyes flickered back to Tony's face.

Tony was still watching him. But the man said nothing until the other berserkers drew level with his chair. Then he stood and turned to greet them. "You were out there a while," said Tony to Lyle. "Everything okay?"

"Yeah," said Lyle briskly, letting go of Crazy Lee and clapping Tony on the shoulder. "Everything's good. Take a walk, Tony. Go back to camp and avoid questions. Change your clothes. And stay away from that red-eyed skitter, or he'll smell the Mason kid on you."

"Is that a joke?"

"Nope. That's a thing now, so stay away from him."

Tony nodded, and sent a last look in Ben's direction, before he turned and left the building.

When the door locked behind Tony, Ben swallowed hard and looked at Lyle.

"Alright there, Ben?" Asked Lyle, pushing a chair aside to walk over. "What were you and Tony talking about?"

Ben breathed evenly but his heart hammered wildly in his chest. "What can I say to make you listen?"

"I do listen, kid," said Lyle gently. "But I have to go with what I can hold in my hands. Real, solid evidence."

Ben clenched his jaw angrily. "You don't have any," he ground out.

Lyle nodded his head slowly. "What we have is circumstantial. Taking a good, clear look at what those spikes on your back do to you, and what they enhance. Don't forget they somehow connect your mind to the enemy. So I hope you can understand something for me, Ben."

Ben watched him without saying a word.

Lyle crouched down in front of Ben. "What I'm about to do is for your own good. It's for your own health, and the safety of the Second Mass."

Ben's chest felt tight with apprehension. "What is it?" He asked, trying not to sound worried.

Lyle put a hand on Ben's shoulder and squeezed it lightly. Ben tried to yank sideways and dislodge the man's grip, but Lyle held tightly to his shoulder. "I'm going to get those things out of your back," he told Ben calmly.

A cold, ringing silence followed Lyle's words, and Ben stared uncomprehendingly. Disbelief clouded his eyes as he tried to understand.

"It's the only way to help you, Ben. There's no other way to protect each other. It's the right thing to do, for the right reason."

"N...no," whispered Ben. A block of ice had lodged itself in his chest. "No, you can't do that." He looked at Mike. There was a subtle smirk on the scarred man's leathery face. Ben's eyes moved to Crazy Lee, but she avoided his gaze. So he looked back at Lyle. "Not even Dr. Glass could do it..."

Lyle squeezed his shoulder again, but this time Ben didn't react. "I'm sorry, kid," said Lyle, and he even sounded sorry. "But it's a risk we have to take. One day you should thank me for it, if you survive this day." Lyle stood up and gestured at Mike. "Get his legs and pull him flat."

"W... what?" Stammered Ben, glancing nervously between them.

Mike looked like Christmas had come early. "You got it, boss," he said delightedly. He looked down at Ben and walked around behind the pillar, out of Ben's sight.

"Stop," said Ben more loudly, twisting his neck to try and follow Mike's position with his eyes. "I don't know what'll happen if you - hold on, please listen to me - "

But Mike didn't need to be told an order twice. He bent down behind Ben and grabbed both his ankles. With a sharp tug, he yanked Ben's feet out from under him and pulled his legs flat.

Ben's chained arms were tugged roughly to the base of the pillar as Mike pulled his legs out behind him. His belly hit the floor and he curled sideways, struggling to resist Mike's grip. But Mike gave another yank, pulling him flat again, so that the metal chains pulled harshly on his bound arms. Ben fought for all he was worth, but his legs were still asleep and his body felt weakened. Mike proved to be much stronger than he was at the moment.

A hand struck the middle of Ben's back, forcing him face-first against the floor. Ben let out a pained cough under Mike's substantial weight. He tried to kick out his legs, but Mike threw a leg over his back and straddled him, aptly restraining him.

"Lie still!" Mike hissed somewhere above his head.

Ben's cheek was pressed against the scuffed, wooden floor. He panted for breath as he strained with every muscle in his body to counter Mike's restrictive hold. "Don't do this! Don't," he gasped, seized by fear. "Just listen to me - _please!"_

**...**

**...**

**...**

**A/N: Sorry for the cliff-hanger ;P Reviews keep the inspiration alive! I know there aren't many of us out there who still write and/or read Falling Skies fanfiction, but we are the rare few! We are the good ones. Lol. So leave a review, a shout-out to let me know we're not alone, and I'll shout back in the next chapter.**

**Warning: the next chapter will contain elements of torture. But it's not the worst Ben-whump I have planned for this story. The comfort side of the hurt/comfort will make up for all of it.**


	6. Complications

Chapter Six

"Complications"

...

...

...

Tom Mason and Dan Weaver planned to leave the situation tent to meet up with a small crew. They would leave camp and begin the search for Ben, taking the southeast roads while the skitter tracked by scent.

As Tom dropped the tent flap closed behind himself and Dan, Cochise found them.

He didn't bring good news. "Our intelligence has confirmed premature enemy movement," he informed them grimly. "The information on the maps is correct, but it seems we were mistaken about the time frame. This is sooner than we would have thought possible."

Tom and Dan sequestered Cochise into an empty alleyway, away from prying civilian ears. "What's their movement?" Asked Tom when they reached relative privacy.

Cochise inclined his head. "I'm afraid ground forces are headed in this direction as we speak. Enemy aircraft are gathering at the nearest Espheni base. All indicators suggest an impending large-scale assault."

"Jesus..." Murmured Tom, looking at Dan, then back at Cochise. "You're sure this is correct?"

Cochise nodded solemnly. "Yes. I observed the ground troops from the air. There are more than two hundred of what you call 'skitters,' and at least one hundred mechanized vehicles." Cochise's face was somber as he turned dark eyes on Dan Weaver. "You have not had a chance to adequately prepare for this attack, Captain Weaver. The attack that we feared is now at our feet."

Dan crossed his arms over his chest, processing the information quickly. In his steadfast service to the country and the human race, stepping up to the plate had become a natural response for him. "How much time do we have?" He asked calmly.

"Only hours," answered Cochise. Now there was a new hint of urgency in his tone. "This may be the biggest fight your resistance has seen in the course of this war. You must begin preparations immediately."

Tom raised his hands in frustration. He turned away from Dan and Cochise and shut his eyes, rubbing his hands over his face as he tried to think. "Damn it..." he muttered, turning back toward Dan. "Wherever Ben is, I can't just leave him out there. You heard the skitter - something happened to him. Something's not right."

Dan looked equally torn. His eyebrows were one solid line of tension over his pale, narrowed eyes. "I don't know what's happened with Ben," he said softly to Tom. "But one thing I do know is that if we don't batten down this camp, get the civilians into shelter, and get our fighters in position, we might be facing more than we can handle here, my friend."

"I can't leave him alone out there, Dan, not when an enemy horde is coming down on us... It's out of the question."

Scraping sounds reached their ears - the sound of a skitter's approach. Tom, Dan, and Cochise turned around as Denny and the red-eyed skitter walked toward them up the alleyway, pushing through the hanging blankets. There were a few other de-harnessed teenagers following behind them.

"Tom-Mason," said Denny abruptly, though her tone was dull. "You cannot abandon your fighters at the hour of battle. You must remain here and prepare the resistance."

Tom opened his mouth as if to speak in protest, but Denny's voice interrupted. "Do not worry. I will take this group and lead the search for your son, Ben, while you fulfill your duty. Fear not, Tom-Mason. I will find him."

Dan frowned. "You won't fight with us?" He asked the red-eyed skitter.

The skitter turned its head toward him, and Denny spoke. "I will return to fight by your side with my troops. And if Ben has not yet been found, we will resume the search after the enemy has been pushed back."

Tom appeared to mull over his options for long moments before finally giving a brief nod of his chin. "Alright," he said to the skitter with a clip in his tone. He looked at Dan. "Alright?"

"Get it done, soldier," said Dan to the skitter with a stiff salute.

...

...

...

Ben had never felt more out of control in his life. Not even with the skitters when they put that harness on his back... they were the enemy. It was expected. But this... this was something no amount of prepping could have readied him for.

Mike's hand held him down by the shoulder blades, and the big man was straddling his back to keep him still. Mike was heavy, but he withheld some of his weight so that Ben could keep breathing.

Lyle and Crazy Lee were at the table, and Ben could hear metal clinking against metal, and things being moved around, but he couldn't see the broad-shouldered berserker. All Ben could see was the splintery, peeling wall a few meters to his right.

"Here we go," said Lyle from across the room. Ben heard his footsteps approaching, and he shook his head back and forth. His appeals were silent for the time being; it seemed his verdict was in, and he couldn't see a way out of it. But his desperation was slowly building.

Lyle came into view on Ben's right side. The man knelt down beside him, holding some heavy-looking pliers in one hand and the taser in his other.

Ben tried to look at him but Mike grabbed a fistful of his hair and pushed his head back down. Ben could only stare at Lyle out of the corner of his eye, breathing heavily.

"Hey... try to stay calm," said Lyle reassuringly, putting his hand on Ben's shoulder briefly. Then he looked at Mike and nodded. "Let me see what I'm working with, Mike."

Ben felt Mike's weight shift. The man let go of Ben's head, scooting down over his rear to sit on the boy's upper thighs.

Ben lifted his head now that he could, and tried to twist his neck around to see them. "What are you doing?" He asked nervously.

Neither man answered him.

All at once, Mike grabbed two fistfuls of Ben's black shirt and started ripping it. With several fierce tugs, he had ripped it cleanly open from collar to hem, and he pushed the edges apart.

When the air hit Ben's exposed back it was cold, and it brought goosebumps to his skin. Humiliation boiled in his gut, making his cheeks and neck burn pink. He could feel the heat of it, and he prayed they couldn't see how scared he was.

"Good goddamn..." murmured Lyle. "When you think you've seen it all..."

Mike chuckled. Even though he sounded slightly unnerved at his first sight of Ben's spine, he still seemed to be enjoying himself.

The humor in Mike's tone sent chills through Ben's body and he opened his eyes.

"Stay still, Ben," advised Lyle firmly. He opened and closed the pliers a few times, looking down at Ben.

"You don't have to," said Ben. With a shake of his arms, he rattled the chains. "You can still let me go..."

"Not after seeing what these have done to you, Ben," answered Lyle dispassionately. "After seeing that, I know you'll thank me later."

He could feel their eyes on his spikes, and the hard skin around them. He squeezed his eyes shut and tucked his forehead against the floor. He would have given anything to become invisible, or to sink through the floor and disappear forever into the earth's crust.

There was a creaking sound, and the door opened, then shut loudly.

Lyle paused, straightening up to look across the room. "Craze?"

But there was no one in the room anymore but Lyle, Mike, and Ben.

"Craze!" Yelled Lyle as he stood up. "Where are you going?!"

No response came. The sound of a dirt bike revving sounded from outside. The engine sound receded as Crazy Lee put more distance between herself and the dealership.

Mike laughed darkly. "Women like her weren't made for real work," he remarked to Lyle, recapturing the other man's attention. "She's better off sitting this one out, if you ask me."

Lyle looked like he didn't want to accept Crazy Lee's departure. He seemed on the brink of going after her.

"Lyle," said Mike loudly. "Buddy. Time is ticking."

Lyle inhaled and exhaled, watching the door with an expression of frustration. Finally he looked back at Mike, and then down at Ben. He lowered down into a crouch once more.

Ben tried to take a deep, steadying breath. Whatever was about to happen, he needed to keep his wits about him.

"Am I in your way, boss?" Asked Mike.

"Nope," said Lyle briskly. "I just need to get in there."

Mike moved around a little more on Ben's legs, accommodating Lyle.

Ben strained again, fighting the chains around his arms. He turned his head to see Lyle's face. "Please," he grunted tensely, "Don't do this."

Lyle met his gaze, but only for a moment.

A moment later, he bent over Ben's back and Ben could no longer see his eyes.

Ben felt a sudden pressure in the middle of his back. He realized Lyle was holding onto one of his spikes with the pliers.

Suddenly, panic gripped Ben and he saw red.

He started to struggle. He writhed his body from side to side, and kicked out his legs. His arms yanked on the chains so hard that splinters started flying off the mahogany pillar.

Mike and Lyle rushed to contain him. Mike's hands came down on his back once more, but Ben tried to buck him off. Mike ended up seated directly over the backside of Ben's jeans, his knees squeezing Ben's legs tightly.

The full weight of Mike's large body successfully pinned Ben to the floor.

"Don't!" Shouted Ben feverishly. "Don't do this - "

Something struck the back of his head, hard. White lights popped in front of his eyes and his ears rang. He sputtered, panting, trying to catch his breath and get his bearings.

All the while, Lyle seemed impervious to Ben's distress. After exchanging raised eyebrows with Mike, he gripped a spike midway down Ben's spine with the pliers. "You need to relax, Ben. Breathe easily... pull yourself together, okay?" He gave Ben a chance to take his advice, but when Ben didn't, he gripped the pliers tightly, and pulled sharply upward.

Pain lanced through Ben's body like nothing he had ever felt before. It shot through his back and into his legs, down his arms, and filled his head. His back stiffened and his neck arched backward with a cry of agony.

Lyle pulled harder, grunting with effort. The spike was resistant - it hadn't budged.

Mike braced his broad hands on either side of the spike and pressed down while Lyle strained upward with all his strength.

Wriggling, black tendrils began to appear beneath Ben's skin under the spike. Like small tentacles, they became more and more visible as Lyle pulled. It looked like roots being ripped out of hard, calcified soil.

Howls of agony echoed through the room. Blood vessels popped in Ben's eyes and lips as helpless screams of pain tore from his throat. After twenty-five seconds, his lips were purple and his eyes began to roll back in his head.

"Almost... got it," hissed Lyle, sounding somewhat alarmed. "One... more... second..." He gave an almighty pull, and the spike ripped free of Ben's spinal column.

Ben collapsed under Mike's weight, trembling uncontrollably. White foam dribbled from the corner of his mouth.

Blood dripped down his back from the open wound where his spike had been. His eyes were closed but the whites of his eyes were visible. More foam mixed with blood dribbled past his clenched teeth.

"Get the jar," said Lyle's voice.

Mike's weight lifted off Ben's backside, but Ben didn't move.

Lyle closed the detached spike inside a glass jar and put it on the table. He knelt down and stared at it from eye-level. The tip had stopped blinking, and the spike was moving around on its own. It's long, tentacle-like appendages tapped against the glass surrounding it.

"The devil himself..." growled Lyle. He couldn't take his eyes off it.

Mike Hana was still watching Ben. There was a glaze in his eyes and his neck was flushed red with heat.

...

...

...

Denny and the other de-harnessed teenagers ran alongside the red-eyed skitter through the woods. They kept up easily with its fast pace.

None of them spoke. If any communication took place among them, it was silent.

Every now and then, the skitter would slow down. Sometimes it would pause to pick something up off the ground and bring it close to its mouth. After a moment it would put the various things down and continue on. Other times the group of them would double back and follow a road for a while. Then they would return to the dirt roads of the woods.

In this way, the skitter tracked what it could find of Ben Mason.

...

...

...


	7. Death of a Rebel

**Warning: this chapter contains a canon character death.**

Chapter Seven

"Death of a Rebel"

...

...

...

Trees flew past as Denny ran alongside the red-eyed skitter with ease. Her symptoms of illness had gone away when the skitter used her to speak earlier that morning. The reinforced connection seemed to have bolstered her enhanced healing capabilities, bringing color back to her cheeks and a spring back to her stride. There was a gleam in her eye and she had decided nothing would stop her from finding Ben. Encouragingly, the red-eyed skitter knew where it was going and Denny followed, consumed with a sense of certainty.

...

...

…

Riding his motorcycle, Pope made his way down a hill through a neighboring town. Buildings crumbled on either side of the street, and heavy debris littered every open space, making it impossible to coast.

He took his hand off the handlebar and raised a radio to his mouth without slowing down. "Come in, Lenny."

There was a pregnant pause, and then Lenny responded. "Go for Lenny."

The radio crackled. Pope raised it again and depressed the call button. "Anything?"

Static hissed.

"Nothing, boss. I found a flock of chickens though..."

Tony's voice broke in. "Aw, don't joke, brother. You know how hungry I get..."

Lenny laughed over the radio. "I'm not kidding. They're over in those trees. Did you know chickens could fly?"

"Chickens can't fly," said Tector's voice, jumping in.

"I'm looking at them right now, Tec, and there's no way they got that high up in those trees without flying. Shit - one just flew down. I told you, man."

As they talked, Pope's facial expression morphed slowly into the essence of malcontent. His nostrils flared impatiently and he spoke into the radio, interrupting them. "Sober up, boys. We need to stay on mission or there'll be hell to pay."

More static crackled across the frequency.

"A mission to find an alien sympathizer and drag him back to camp where we sleep with our eyes closed at night," said Lenny.

"What was that?" Said Pope in a raised voice. "I don't want to hear your opinion, Lenny. Not yours, Tony, or Tec, not a damn soul. We have our orders, so stop jacking off over there and get back on mission."

"Alright, alright - sorry, boss," said Lenny's voice dryly. "Didn't know you turned in your pitchfork for a Mason badge."

"Listen close, asshole," growled Pope. "It's a kid. Razor-back or not, he's a goddamn kid and our orders are clear. So like it or not, you have to get off your ass and do something for once in your pathetic life."

There was more crackling static and then a long silence. Pope navigated his bike around some debris, both his hands back on the handlebars. Once clear of the wreckage, he raised the radio again. "Do I make myself clear?"

"Yeah, boss. Crystal."

"Good," said Pope curtly. He cast a long look around him at the crumbling town and sighed. "This hole is empty. Let's meet on Route One where we planned and we'll move on to the next town from there."

"Copy."

Pope grumbled incoherent words of irritation as he stuffed the radio back into his jacket pocket. He picked up speed a little, heading for the end of Main Street where the road would take him over a bridge and out of town.

As he crested a hill and began another descent, the radio crackled back to life in his pocket.

"Pope, do you copy? This is Captain Weaver for Pope."

Pope squeezed the brake and rolled his bike to a stop on the slope. He got the radio back out. "Pope," he answered briskly.

Dan's voice cracked through the speaker. "Pope, tell your men to keep this channel clear when possible. But that's not what matters now. We have enemy inbound. Three hours at most. Get your fighters back to camp - this is gonna be a big one."

Pope's lingering expression of malcontent changed quickly. A shadow passed over his eyes and a line appeared between his brows. After some hesitation, he spoke into the radio again. "The Mason kid?"

There was more static and another short pause. Then came Dan's grim reply. "There are other people on it for now. We need your men back at camp, soldier. Time is not on our side."

After a prolonged minute Pope raised the radio one more time. "You heard him, boys. Don't wait for me. Get your asses back to camp and say your bedtime prayers, in case tonight's the night."

"Copy that, boss," answered Lenny. "See you there."

It didn't take long for Pope to reach a straightaway down a forest highway. He revved the engine, deftly evading potholes and tree limbs. He didn't like abandoning a job before it was finished, but orders were orders.

He thought about the de-harnessed teenager again. Denny. He saw her face in his mind's eye, and remembered the sick, fearful way she had about her when she looked at him. He thought about the way her spikes had glowed... and shook his head, grumbling. Her plight had somehow tingled his sympathies, but his comfort level about alien hardware was unchanged.

When he was about forty minutes from camp, gunshots rang out a few miles to the east. Pope frowned, steering to a stop with one hand and pulling his rifle off his back. He nestled it into the crook of his shoulder, ready to fire. The distant gunshots continued. It was the sound of more than one person unloading a semi-automatic, and that sound was never a good sign.

He took the radio out of his jacket pocket. "Someone talk to me - are you under fire?"

There was static, and no response. The gunshots thinned out and faded to silence. Pope waited ten seconds before trying again. "Berserkers!" He said loudly into the mouthpiece. "Someone report."

But only static answered him.

Pope swore and shook his radio roughly. Maybe the piece of shit battery was dying. The thing was so old Pope was surprised it worked so long to begin with. "Come in berserkers. Lenny, report," he repeated. "Lenny, do you copy?"

There was still no response.

Pope lowered the radio and stared at the rolling skyline in the distance. There was an ominous feeling around him, as if the air itself had grown heavier against his skin.

He had ridden barely twenty more minutes when something large and brown barrelled out of the thick underbrush on the side of the road. Pope's back tire skidded and he cursed, trying to level out and avoid hitting the skitter. He managed to pull the bike back into balance and the back tire swung around, facing him toward the creature as he slung his rifle up against his shoulder and aimed.

Then he saw the skitter's red eye. He kept the rifle trained on it as he recovered from the surprise. "What the hell are you doing, Red-Eye?"

The skitter made a pained, gargling sound. It staggered on its many legs, and suddenly all of them buckled. It collapsed.

Pope lowered his rifle with a look of confusion. Holes marred almost every inch of the red-eyed skitter's exoskeleton. Bullet holes. Pope kicked the bike into neutral and swung his leg over, hopping off. He approached the skitter slowly, looking it over.

It had clearly been attacked. Blood streamed from an injury in the underside of its jaw. Its eyes opened and closed rapidly and it began to emit wheezing noises.

"Jesus Christ..." muttered Pope, shaking his head. He paced back and forth in front of the skitter. Internally, he struggled with his natural distrust of all aliens and his conflicting desire to know what had happened. But that was impossible... he would only be able to speak to the skitter if Ben Mason or another razor-back was there.

The skitter waved one of its limbs. Its arm. It made a circular motion toward Pope, beckoning him closer.

Pope looked as though he would rather not get any nearer, but after a moment he stepped up to the creature's side. "I wish you could tell me who's shit you stepped in," he said quietly, thinking the explanation may also pertain to his berserkers. He had heard the gunshots... maybe they had been attacked by another group of humans.

The skitter motioned again. It wanted Pope to move even closer.

Pope looked up at the sky, and then against his better judgment, he crouched down by the creature's side. "If you're going to die, I'm not taking the blame..."

Without warning, the red-eyed skitter had whipped it's forelimb around the back of Pope's neck. Before Pope had time to react, it drove the sharp tip of its appendage into the back of Pope's neck. It punched through skin and muscle, between his vertebrae and deep into his spinal column.

Pope's back went as stiff as a board. His eyes opened wide and he stared blankly, unseeingly. His mind had gone completely slack.

And then...

Foreign visuals began to trickle into Pope's mind. Flashing pictures and brief glimpses of familiar faces began to whirl around in his head like a cyclone. The thoughts and images grew clearer as they raced.

He saw his berserkers. Lyle, Tony, Mike, Lenny... a few more... and he saw they were somewhere dark. There was a flash of flickering candlelight, and then the sun was shining down through one high window. The images were fragmented - they jumped to and fro, but the next picture was clear. Pope saw Ben Mason's face. The boy's eyes were wide and his chest was heaving. His arms were behind his back and he was backing up toward a wall.

A second later, Pope saw the faces of Lyle Briggs and Mike Hana. They clinked the necks of two beers together. Then he jumped back to images of Ben Mason, and now the kid was chained on the floor. The lighting of the pictures broke and flickered like an old silent movie. There was a pair of pliers in someone's hand. The hand was using them to grip a spike sticking out of Ben Mason's back.

What Pope saw next disturbed him to the core. The pictures broke and skipped across each other... the spike being ripped from Ben Mason's back like a radish being yanked from the ground.

Pope saw Mike Hana's flushed face. He saw Lyle putting the spike-creature into a jar.

The images in Pope's mind darkened again and started to fade. He blinked his eyes, resuming a measure of self-awareness. But he was frozen, and he couldn't move. The skitter's limb in the back of his neck was doing something to him... preventing him from being able to react.

The skitter wheezed again, and its eyelids fluttered. It trembled slightly, and pulled its limbs in toward its body.

The appendage holding Pope by the neck released him, and he dropped backward onto the ground.

The skitter's body twitched, and then lay still.

Pope scooted backward across the ground on his rear, and reached up a hand to cover the back of his neck. He looked down at his palm, but there was no blood. He got up on his knees and braced forward on his arms to catch his breath.

Those images... those pictures and sounds...

"Jesus Christ..." Murmured Pope. As he struggled with his mortification over being mind-raped by a skitter and anger over what he had seen, he was pale and sweaty. "Fucking... fucking ingrates... goddamn... goddamn... motherfuckers..." He seemed mostly at a loss for decent words until he raised his radio to his lips. "Weaver, come in."

Only weak static answered him.

"Weaver, come in, God damn it, answer me."

Nothing. Pope let out a low growl and shook the radio, then struck it a few times against the heel of his hand. The radio was dead.

...

...

...

_"There's no point in pulling only one."_

_"I don't know if he'll survive another one if we do it right now. I think this needs to be done in increments. Gives him a better chance."_

_"Are you under the impression we have time for increments?"_

_"I'm under the impression that you follow my orders, unless something changed. Did something change?"_

There was a long pause.

_"Do you have something to say to me, Mike?"_

_"No, boss."_

_"Spit it out, if you have the guts."_

Another pause, and a creaking of chair legs. _"I'm just saying... I don't know if we can afford to be pussies on this one, Lyle. Pope is out... you heard him over the radio. That means it's up to you. You're the one that's got to have the guts, or we're all fucked to kingdom come."_

Low laughter. _"And you think you can do it better."_

_"I didn't say that, but hell, you heard Weaver. Maybe the aliens will do it for us."_

_"Don't count on it. The Masons are like cockroaches."_

_"Yeah... You know, you used to be ruthless, brother. Remember? You and Pope, both of you. You had what it took to get it done, and now I'm not so sure."_

_"Really? Then walk out the door - don't wait around. This coup is happening with or without you, Mike."_

To Ben, their voices sounded like distant echoes bouncing around a bell chamber. He could hear them and understand their words, but it seemed as though they were far away from him, talking about someone else in a different room.

They had left him lying face-down with his head between his chained arms at the base of the pillar. The tips of his spikes were no longer blinking. As the minutes dragged on, his ravaged body started to heal. His back wound stopped bleeding, and the jagged edges of the injury began tightening toward the center as the skin and muscle healed. A dark, purple bruise was spreading beneath the injury up and down the length of his spine.

He focused on his breathing. In... and out... In... and out... In...

_"You're not listening to me. I'm saying I know it's happening. And I'm saying I hope you're on board with it, because a lot of people might die."_

_"As few as possible."_

_"That's not up to you."_

_"It is if I'm responsible for it, you can be goddamn sure."_

_"The second a scout narrows it down to this place, we'll be surrounded. We have the big guns. Are you going to be able to use our shit on them if you have to?"_

_"If I have to. If there's no other option, then yeah. Of course I would."_

Ben breathed slowly in and out. As the fog of his mind started to clear slowly, he opened his eyes.


	8. A Gathering Storm

Chapter Eight

"A Gathering Storm"

...

...

...

Denny had run alongside the wounded red-eyed skitter. She was bleeding from the arm but the bullet had only grazed her. There were scratch marks on her cheeks from branches whipping past. The two were moving too fast to avoid them.

Denny heard the growl of a motorcycle engine as they drew near to a road.

"Wait!" She exclaimed, skidding to a halt on the pine needles.

But the skitter didn't stop. It burst through the roadside brush and careened out onto the pavement.

"No- !" Yelled Denny fearfully. She jumped after it, suddenly she stopped. The tips of the spikes on the back of her neck glowed brightly as she crouched down in the underbrush. At the skitter's silent command, she remained hidden.

She stayed out of sight as John Pope approached the red-eyed skitter. Anger burned in her veins as she looked at his smug, don't-give-a-fuck face. She wanted to run out and attack the lead berserker, but the skitter's order held her firm.

She didn't move a muscle as she watched what unfolded between Pope and the red-eyed skitter. She saw the forced transfer of conscious energy, and she saw it let go of the man.

The tips of Denny's spikes went dark. She blinked and took a shuddering breath. She pushed a branch aside to look out at the road again.

Pope was returning to his motorcycle and shouldering his rifle, slinging it over his back.

Denny's eyes shot back to the red-eyed skitter's lifeless form on the side of the road. The skitter didn't move, or make a sound.

Suddenly, Denny was gripped by a sense of fearful grief. She gasped and stumbled to her feet, shoving through the bushes and running into view. She tripped to her knees beside the skitter and leaned over it. Her breath was shallow and her head drooped toward it's body.

Pope had dismounted the second Denny came hurtling out of the bushes, and his rifle was back in his grip. But he slowly lowered it as he recognized her.

Denny cupped the side of the skitter's head and stared into its eyes. She tried to connect with it.

But she felt nothing. Her friend wasn't there anymore.

Pope took a few steps in the direction of Denny and the dead skitter.

The next instant, there was a knife in Denny's hand. She hadn't straightened up or moved away from the skitter, but she held the knife in a clear threat toward Pope.

Pope stopped advancing. He held out his free hand to placate her. "Take it easy," he said in what he hoped was a calm tone. He was still reeling from what the skitter had made him see. When Denny lowered the knife slightly, his eyes glanced to the blood on her arm, and the scratches on her cheek. "What happened? Were you attacked by outliers?"

Denny didn't acknowledge the question. She lowered her forehead toward the skitter's chest with her eyes closed.

Pope took another step closer. "It's dead," he informed her unnecessarily. His voice was stronger now. "You want to tell me why? Were you shot, too?"

Denny rested her forehead against the skitter and she still didn't respond.

"Pull it together," said Pope loudly. He snapped his fingers, stepping closer, and Denny didn't raise the knife again. "Talk to me, you're injured. Who attacked you?"

Denny shuddered and sniffed. She straightened her back and slowly rose to her feet. She turned to look at Pope. "Your berserkers," she answered quietly. Tears streaked her cheeks.

Pope swallowed. That was like salt in the wound... "They're not mine anymore," he informed her briskly. "There's a goddamn mutiny on our hands."

Denny looked back down at the skitter and ran a hand along it's side. "He was a brave soldier."

Pope scowled. "What are you, its mistress?"

Denny exhaled slowly. "A friend." She faced Pope again and walked toward him, holding the knife by her side. "I'm going to take you to where Ben is."

Pope frowned, looking her over. It took him a moment to process her offer. "You know where he is?"

"My friend knew. So... I do too. Ben is a few miles to the southeast in Laconia."

Pope watched with a calculating stare. After a moment, he shrugged his rifle over his shoulder and crossed his arms. "Tell me where to go, and get yourself back to camp," he countered impatiently. "Tell them the berserkers are off the map and Pope can't account for them. Tell them I'm going to bring a stop to this before it gets any closer to a military coup."

"Can't you radio camp?" Asked Denny. Her chin was set stubbornly.

Pope held up the radio and pressed the call button. The silence was answer enough, but he explained anyway. "Battery kicked it. So no, I can't radio camp. That's what you're here for - so get going."

"No," said Denny with a short shake of her head. Her jaw was set. "I'm coming with you."

Pope laughed dryly and without humor.

"I heard Weaver earlier today," insisted Denny stubbornly. "They can't afford to lose any more fighters, with the Espheni moving in. They can't abandon the camp at the hour of battle." Denny paused, and looked down at the dead skitter. Another wave of sadness washed over her, remembering the creature's words. But she overcame the surge of grief and looked back up at Pope. "But we can."

Pope raised an eyebrow. "And who contacts Weaver?"

Denny thought for a moment. "The berserkers have radios, you can use one of theirs after you talk sense into them and get Ben out of there."

Pope's eyes looked dark and grim. "Talking..." he growled. Anger simmered in his tone. "I don't think talking is going to get it done here, princess. They went off the reservation, they're over my head. It's a power move, and they did it without me. I can't let it stand."

"Then don't!" Said Denny, shaking her head. "Get them under control. You can do that, can't you?"

Pope didn't say anything for a moment. His eyes travelled over her face, fixing on her steady gaze.

"Can't you?" Asked Denny again in a higher pitch.

Pope rubbed a hand over his face. "I don't know," he said quietly. It wasn't like him to be so honest. But when the time came, he couldn't think of any response other than the truth.

"You have to try!" Denny's voice reached its highest pitch and broke. She looked away from Pope, wiping an arm across her eyes.

Denny's discomfort made Pope feel itchy. He didn't like it. He didn't use to give a damn about anything and it was easier that way. He scratched the side of his head and then folded his arms. "Alright, look. If you come with me you better stay out of my way," he warned. "I need to show these white trash, traitorous motherfuckers who they're fucking with." He spiralled for a moment into an internal fantasy of revenge, imagining the horrors he could inflict on them for their betrayal.

"Mr. Pope," said Denny urgently. Her voice broke Pope out of his thoughts and he looked at her.

"Please," she insisted. "We have to go. We have to help him."

After a brief pause, Pope gestured behind him with his chin. "Get on."

But Denny took a step back. "No thanks... I'll run."

Pope rolled his eyes. "Put the knife away and get on the goddamn bike. I've had enough of your kind's antics for one lifetime."

Denny frowned, her foot slipping backward to take another step, but she hesitated.

"It's my way or the highway," barked Pope.

Denny chewed on her bottom lip, hovering. Then she walked stiffly over and slid onto the bike behind Pope. Once seated, she slipped her dagger into the sheath at her belt. She didn't know where to hold on, so she grasped the sides of Pope's jacket.

Pope revved the engine and peeled off the side of the road.

Denny yelped and wrapped her arms around his middle.

After a short time, Pope slowed down to a reasonable speed. "Tell me where to go," he reminded her.

Denny gripped him tightly and watched the road over the back of his shoulder. "Okay," she breathed behind his ear. "But if you try to kill me, I'll kill you first."

...

...

...

Rather than mustering at camp, the majority of the berserkers were gathering at the Harley Davidson dealership. They remained outside setting up a perimeter, all except for Lenny, who opened up the door and hurried inside.

Once he could see Lyle he beckoned urgently to him. "Get over here, boss. We need to talk outside."

Lyle glanced at Mike. "Stay with the hostage," he ordered. He got up and left the building with Lenny, who steered him into the parking lot.

They stopped between two large trees and Lenny turned to face him. "The skitter got away," he informed Lyle grimly. "There were tire tracks where we found its body, and human tracks in the dirt by the road."

"You found its body?" Repeated Lyle. "Then it's dead."

Lenny nodded, but he wasn't delivering good news. "It knew things," he continued in a hushed tone. "Before things got hostile one of the razor-backs translated for it. It said... well, it knew about you, and me, and the Mason kid - everything. Somehow it - saw everything that's been happening. It... tapped into the kid's brain, or something, his alien radar. So it knew where we are and we had no choice but to open fire."

Lyle crossed his arms over his bulky chest. "Did any of the kids escape?"

"The skitter must have told them to scatter because they ran in every direction."

Lyle looked increasingly impatient. "Those kids will run straight back to camp and raise the alarm. They have a fight coming their way but you can bet your last dollar nothing could keep Tom Mason from coming for his son if he heard what they have to say. And you're telling me you let them get away?"

"Not all of them," said Lyle quickly. "Only one actually got away. She took off with the skitter."

"And?"

"And... we don't know. We didn't find her with its body. She's only one person, boss - "

Lyle inhaled deeply, and exhaled. "One..." He rubbed the side of his temple and attempted to calm his temper. "Only one."

"We're doing everything we can to find her."

...

...

...

**The next chapter will contain content that is inappropriate for younger readers. Warnings will precede the chapter itself when I post it. **


	9. Kick Him While He's Down

**AUTHOR'S WARNING: ****The rating of this story has changed from 'T' for 'teen' to 'M' for 'mature.' The chapter contains a graphic depiction of forced sexuality between an adult and a minor. This is a work of fiction and if this content could be a trigger for you, please don't read it. **

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Chapter Nine

"Kick Him While He's Down"

...

...

...

Ben's whole body ached. Sharp, stabbing pains radiated through his limbs from his injured spine, and his skin was cool and clammy. He was pale and sweaty, and the open wound on his back was only just beginning to close. The dark bruise had spread up to his neck and all the way down past the hem of his jeans.

As the minutes dragged on, Ben started to compartmentalize his pain. He tried to get a handle on it, pushing it down until he could think outside of it. His head began to clear.

But he didn't move or make a sound. He waited silently with all his nerves on tenterhooks, letting Lyle and Mike believe he was still unconscious.

He was praying to be left alone with one or the other. He wouldn't be able to take on two berserkers in his weakened state, but he was sure he could handle just one of them. If he could avoid the taser he thought he had a good chance of making an escape.

There were thick splinters in the wood of the pillar around the chains that bound his arms. He had done some serious damage to it the last time he tried to get loose. If he had been able to damage the integrity of the structure then maybe he would be able to break through it in a few short strokes. But if it was going to work, he needed to do it fast - he wouldn't have much time before he would be stopped by whoever was left to guard him.

Ben's adrenaline spiked when Lenny came in and pulled Lyle outside, leaving Ben alone with Mike. Mike wouldn't have been his choice out of the two but he was better than no opportunity at all.

After Lyle and Lenny left, Mike hovered nearby for a few minutes. Ben blinked, staring at the wall with widened, bloodshot eyes. He could hear the big berserker's heavy breathing and he used it to track his movement. Mike was pacing nearby, wearing a beaten path in the floor.

Ben counted his heartbeats and bided his time. Necessity lent him the patience he needed; he couldn't afford to screw the timing because if he did, he might not get another chance.

He heard the slurping sound of Mike draining the last sips from a beer bottle. Then footsteps thudded on the floor as Mike walked toward the table.

Ben thought Mike would hear his heart hammering for sure. This was it - this was his moment, because one moment was all he would have to make it work and he knew it.

In the blink of an eye Ben twisted onto his side and bent his knees, bringing his legs up to brace against the pillar. Using his feet he pushed outward and yanked on the chains as hard as he could at the same time - once, twice, a third time. The wooden fibers of the pillar broke apart in thick chips, flying through the air. Ben pushed harder with his legs and kept yanking, sending wood splinters in every direction.

The realization gripped him that it wasn't happening quickly enough.

"HEY!" Shouted Mike. He ran back across the floor and the sound of a glass bottle shattering filled the room.

In what seemed like a panic move, Mike threw himself back on top of Ben and tried to wrestle him onto his stomach.

Mike's legs dislodged Ben's feet from the pillar but Ben continued to thrash, pulling desperately at the chains with his arms.

Mike straddled Ben's lower back and struck the boy in the back of the head with a closed fist. The blow knocked Ben's head forward and his chin bounced off the floor. He spit out blood, and grabbed back onto the chains with his fingers. He yanked on them with every ounce of strength he had left.

The chains were breaking through the wood, lodging in it like blades, with some links pulled more than halfway through. Mike hadn't used the taser yet, which meant it was still on the table. But the much larger man had the distinct advantage of being unbound, and on top.

"LIE STILL!" He roared, spraying Ben's back with spit. He pinned Ben by the base of the neck, using his thighs to keep the boy's hips from continuing to thrash.

But Ben didn't stop struggling. He couldn't. He had almost broken through the pillar.

Suddenly, agony erupted in the center of Ben's body. He cried out and his struggles weakened, his body stiffening. Sharp stabs of pain jolted through his every muscle.

Mike was pressing his thumb into the open wound where Ben's spike had been.

After a few harrowing moments Mike removed his finger from Ben's wound. Ben drew in trembling breaths and let his chin hit the floor.

Mike sounded out of breath, too. The man chuckled on an exhale. "Even superfreaks have weaknesses," he panted. His hand was sweaty on Ben's neck. "I thought we talked about this, Benji... you weren't going to do stupid things anymore, remember? Why don't you listen?"

As if to draw it out for as long as possible, Mike gently touched his finger to Ben's wound again.

Ben inhaled sharply and squeezed his eyes shut.

Mike chuckled. "You should have thought about that before you busted that fine piece of woodwork, Mason." Slowly, he pushed his thumb back into the open wound.

Ben couldn't hold back a high-pitched groan of pain.

Mike pressed his finger a little deeper.

"Stop - " gasped Ben. "I'm not your enemy!"

Mike pulled his finger out of Ben's wound and leaned over him until their upper bodies aligned. Ben's spikes pressed slightly against the front of Mike's shirt. "What do you have to say to me, Benji?"

Ben squeezed his upper arms tightly on either side of his face. The smell of floor polish filled his nose. He felt like a helpless animal.

"I asked you a question..." Hissed Mike's voice. His breath washed over the back of Ben's neck.

Ben had nothing to say. He didn't even attempt to give Mike whatever answer the man was seeking.

His silence seemed to agitate Mike. The man grabbed him by his hair again and forced his head back up. Ben could do nothing but pant through his mouth as his neck strained backward and his back arched.

Mike stared down at the top of Ben's head for a long, tense moment. All that could be heard in the otherwise empty room was the sound of their combined breathing.

Then suddenly, Mike tucked his chin into the crook of Ben's collarbone and inhaled deeply. Ben tried to jerk his face away but Mike held him firmly by the hair. Mike inhaled again, and exhaled slowly.

Ben couldn't tell what the berserker was doing, but Mike's tingly, hot breath made his skin crawl.

Then he felt Mike's hand rustling around at the hem of his jeans. His stomach muscles jumped as the man's cold wristwatch slid over them, and Ben went completely still with new apprehension.

Mike's hand pushed its way under Ben's hip and cupped him roughly against the crotch of his jeans.

Ben grunted in surprise and anger. He drew his knee up and bent in the middle, trying to angle himself away from Mike's touch. But Mike pushed him flat again using his own body, and grabbed him through the denim of his jeans once more.

"No - don't - don't do that - " Ben stammered as he tried to prevent what was happening.

But Mike kept rubbing him, and as he did, tingling sensations of unwanted pleasure sparked to life in Ben's belly. Humiliation and shame made his face burn pink.

Mike continued to grope him feverishly, breathing hard. Ben's resistance became frenzied. He tried to fight the oppressive weight of Mike's heavy body, twisting around and bucking his hips, but Mike would not be moved.

Mike seemed to enjoy Ben's movements. As Ben tried again to unseat him, Mike let out a low groan and pushed his pelvis downward.

Ben felt the hardness of Mike's erection pressing against the back of his jeans. For a moment, he stopped struggling again.

Mike gave a breathy laugh against the skin of Ben's neck. "That's better," he said quietly. His voice sounded different... lower, and raspier. "I don't want to hurt you, Benji."

"Wh...whatever you're doing," gasped Ben, "Please don't. I'm asking you, please... please listen to me."

Mike pressed his lips against Ben's ear. "Are you a virgin, skitter-boy?" He breathed.

Ben wanted to throw up. Tears stung the backs of his eyes and he would have let out a low sob if he didn't catch it in his throat. He turned his face into the crook of his own elbow.

But Mike didn't need an answer. "I thought so," he said with a smirk. He let go of Ben's crotch and withdrew his hand.

Ben flattened himself against the floor.

Mike didn't relent. "What would pretty little skitter-girl say if she saw you now?" He continued in an undertone. "Do you think she would still want you? Why wouldn't she? You two are the same... half-breed skitter-loving little fuck-ups, that's what you are."

Ben felt a flare of anger return. "Don't talk about her," he growled, struggling once. "You don't know how wrong you are about her - you don't know what you're talking about."

Mike grinned widely, but Ben couldn't see it. "Ahh... finally he speaks. And all it took to make it happen was a girl. Why haven't you fucked her yet, Benji?"

"Stop," growled Ben. "Stop talking about her... Stop calling me that - "

"Why? Because she's the only one who calls you that?" chuckled Mike heatedly. "Hell... what makes her so special? What makes the aliens so special, that they get to come in and fuck you in the brain whenever the hell they feel like it? Does having them in your head turn you on? You like it?"

Ben's head gave a short, tense shake to the negative.

"Then what does turn you on?" Rasped Mike. He started grinding against the back of Ben's jeans. His hips took a rhythmic motion, roughly pumping down on Ben.

"When we have a little more time, I'll find out," said Mike breathlessly. "It's my turn now... and I don't want to be interrupted."

With each thrust, his weight bore sharply down on Ben and pained grunts were forced from the boy's lips.

Mike sped up his movements, thrusting sharply. "I wish I had more time with you," he panted, then pressed his mouth against the side of Ben's neck. "I'll show you what you're missing. Let me hear you, Benji..."

Ben clenched his jaw shut and closed his throat. He wouldn't allow a single sound to get through, even if that meant he blacked out from not breathing.

Mike reached a hand under Ben's belly as he pumped his hips against the boy from behind. He grabbed onto Ben through his jeans again and squeezed tight.

Ben couldn't hold back a gasp of pain. But it was nothing compared to what came next.

Mike drove the middle finger of his other hand deep inside Ben's wound and hooked it, using it to grip the boy.

Screams of pain filled the room. Ben's throat was so torn from screaming that it didn't take long before his voice broke, but he kept rasping out cries of agony.

Mike groaned and thrust harder and faster. He rode Ben's pain like a wave, and then abruptly, he peaked. Pinning Ben with his body, he pulled his finger out of Ben's wound and thrust sharply - then thrust again. He uttered a low, broken groan and pushed his hips downward, hard.

He stayed that way for long moments, his body draped over Ben's. He breathed raggedly, unevenly, and he was spent.

"Goddamn, boy..." He panted. "If we had more time before they get back I would rip off your clothes already and do you again. Do you right."

Ben's eyes were squeezed tightly shut. Tears streaked his cheeks, and he silently prayed for someone - anyone - to enter the building. But all he heard were Mike's ragged breaths and the blood rushing through his own ears.

...

...

...


	10. Waves

Chapter Ten

"Waves"

...

...

...

Mike gave Ben a hard shove from the side, but Ben didn't respond. He didn't turn his head, and kept his face tucked into the side of his arm.

"Hey..." murmured Mike. He still sounded breathless. "Don't be such a stiff. It's natural - it's fine. People do it all the time, so buck up, alright? If it feels good, do it."

Ben was watching the wall through a small space beneath his upper arm. His swollen eyes were rimmed with red, and dried tears had left smudges in the dust and dirt on his cheeks.

He was in a state of mild shock.

He was embarrassed... he was scared. He couldn't even figure out everything he was feeling because the constant, sharp pain in his back overpowered all of it.

"Didn't you hear me?" Said Mike, a little louder. The older man was seated beside Ben now, and he seemed intent on getting the boy to talk with him. "Don't be a rude little fucker..."

But Ben remained silent.

Mike kept trying. He got to his feet and walked around Ben's other side, then knelt near his shoulder. He tried to see Ben's eyes.

Ben turned his face into his opposite elbow. All he knew was that he didn't want to look at the berserker's smug, twisted face ever again.

Mike laid his hand flat on Ben's bare back, palm-down. Ben couldn't hold back a sharp intake of breath and a grunt of wordless protest. Alarm jolted through his body, making the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. He braced for Mike's next move.

But rather than inflict more torment, Mike gently brushed his hand down the length of Ben's spine. His fingers slipped easily over each spike that remained, and skipped over the area of injury. Mike caressed him again, and the gentleness of his touch was almost loving.

But Ben's muscles had begun to tremble again. He lifted his head two inches and his eyes flickered sideways toward Mike. His gaze was tense and apprehensive.

Mike met his eyes immediately. It seemed eye contact was something the man had been hoping for, because he smiled. The smile looked a little odd on his sweaty face. "There he is," he said to Ben, as though to a good friend. His hand caressed Ben's back a few more times, and then he ceased. "I didn't want to hurt you, you know. I didn't hurt you, did I?"

Through his shock and fear, Ben felt another rush of anger. If only he could find his voice. "You... you..."

As Ben struggled to get the words out, Mike leaned closer. He reached over and ran his fingers through the back of Ben's hair. "What is it, Benji?"

The flame of anger in Ben's belly was fanned violently back to life. It gleamed in his eyes, and it strengthened his voice. He jerked his head away from Mike's hand and uttered through his teeth, "I-I-I'll kill you."

Mike stared at him for a long moment, their faces inches apart. There was a dangerous glint in the man's eyes as he fixed them on Ben's, who didn't look away. For a moment it seemed that Mike would lash out, maybe strike him, but a few seconds later his expression changed. A rather unkind smile twisted his lips and he let out a low chuckle. "I've always been a good gambler," he said coldly. "Always. I always know when a horse is worth a dollar or a hundred - every damn time. And kid... let me tell you, if you were the only horse in the race I still wouldn't bet on you in your condition."

"You don't know anything ab-about me," growled Ben.

"Oh... I know more than you think. For example, I know you're in over your head, boy. Accept it. And don't give us any more trouble."

Half a dozen men followed Lyle Briggs toward the Harley Davidson building with their rifles on their backs. Lyle unlocked the door and swung it open. He held it and stood back, letting the others enter before him. Then he closed the door behind him and locked it.

It was dark inside. There was only one unboarded window and it was set high in the ceiling, letting in a small ray of afternoon light.

Lyle stretched his arms and headed across the room at the front of the group. When the sole of his boot crunched on some broken glass he paused, sharpening up and looking around.

The wooden pillar in the middle of the room was broken almost in half. Splinters of wood covered the whole area, but Ben still lay at the base of it, and chains still bound his arms. Mike was kneeling beside the boy, looking back at Lyle with smug confidence written all over his face.

"What the hell happened?" Asked Lyle grimly. Behind him, the others broke into hushed murmurs.

"He threw a fit," answered Mike. Standing up, he turned to face them. "He almost got out of the chains, and I stopped him. You're welcome," he added.

"I don't believe it..." muttered Tony from behind Lyle. "Look at that pillar. What human can do that?"

Mike shrugged. "I told you, didn't I? It's the healing factor - it's the same for every razor-back. Not that there are any left, besides Benji here... but you can be sure that every minute passing makes him stronger and stronger."

Ben raised his head, straining his neck to look at Mike. He finally found his voice. "What do you mean?" He croaked.

Mike looked down at Ben and smirked. "Now you're ready to talk?"

Ben's eyes moved from Mike to Lyle across the room. "What do you mean?" He repeated urgently. "That there are none of us left?"

Lyle set down his pack on the table and walked over, stopping a meter away and crossing his arms. He fixed Ben with a penetrating stare. "I told you, kid. This is a regime change. Your skitter friends got in our way and we couldn't let it stand. You've got to understand that we had to do it - there was no other choice."

Ben sputtered, trying his best not to understand. There was a sinking feeling of irredeemable horror deep in his chest. "I don't... I-I don't know what you... what did you do?"

"Only what we had to, Ben. One day you'll see it clearer than you do now. You just have to trust that."

"You didn't kill them," said Ben, shaking his head stiffly. His eyes were wide.

"It was quick, if that makes you feel any better," answered Lyle without feeling.

Ben stared at him, utterly mortified. He dropped his head back down, and found himself staring blankly beneath his upper arm at the far wall again. Denny couldn't be dead... she wouldn't just die. No one could kill Denny.

An unwanted voice piped up in the back of Ben's mind.

_Two days ago, you would have said no one would get the drop on you, either._

Ben's mind rode waves of disbelief and denial as he tried to come to grips with this new reality. The hits kept coming, and he didn't know how much more of this he could take.

"So he was just waiting for his chance?" Said Lyle to Mike. Now that Ben was no longer speaking, he had lost the man's attention.

"Yeah, boss. Too bad he picked the wrong asshole to fuck with," chuckled Mike.

"Well he's not fighting now. How did you subdue him? The taser?"

Mike looked even more smug, if that were possible. "Nope. My bare hands. I just grabbed him by the hole in his back - that seemed to calm him down after a minute."

Lyle nodded, impressed. "Good work. We'll leave him with two guards from now on."

"No," said Mike suddenly with a shake of his head. "Not necessary. I can handle him, easy. Just make sure if you ever do leave a single guard... it's me."

Lyle considered that and gave a noncommittal nod of his head. "We'll see. With the Espheni moving in we'll need all hands at the perimeter, so I might have to take you up on that."

Over by the table, Lenny picked up the taser and walked it over to Lyle.

Lyle took the taser with a nod of thanks to Lenny. Lyle and Mike exchanged knowing looks.

"What's the easiest way?" Asked Mike casually.

Lyle walked over to him and clapped him on the shoulder, handing over the taser. "I think it's easiest if we just..."

Ben lifted his head again, turning it sharply in their direction.

But the next moment Mike had bent double and rammed the electric taser into Ben's ribs.

...

...

...

The afternoon sun was waning and the civilians had been moved underground when the Espheni offensive moved in on the Second Massachusetts. Beamers filled the sky in narrow, glowing flocks as ground troops of skitters and mechs approached the perimeter. The fighters of the Second Mass were already in position when the warning came from the outpost, and they hunkered down behind their fortifications with their weapons at the ready. A nervous chill ran through everyone present, but no one acknowledged it aloud.

"Don't fire until I give the order!" Barked Captain Weaver from behind a fortified scaffolding. "Be concise! Aim before you fire! Pope cooks up some mighty fine bullets but after the last one is out of the chamber, we're done!"

Tom Mason crouched behind a few stacks of heavy tires. His rifle rested against the his shoulder, the muzzle steadied by the top tire as he aimed down the street. "Let's make this count!" He called. He couldn't afford to think in terms of survivability, and he couldn't risk a stray thought about his missing son. All he could afford to do was fight.

...

...

...

Denny clung tightly to Pope from behind as they tore down a rural road through the hills. They were surrounded by woodlands on both sides, and the occasional run-down gas station flew by.

"It's not far," said Denny. Her chin rested on Pope's shoulder, and he hadn't objected. "We're getting close. I can feel it."

"Don't talk to me about your unnatural feelings," begged Pope over the steady rumble of the engine. "Just tell me where to go, kid."

"At the bottom of the hill there's a crossroads. Go right... that takes us to the edge of town, near the wilderness refuge."

Pope frowned, gunning the engine. "They're at a wilderness refuge?"

"No," said Denny, and she held him tighter as they blew through some potholes. "They're near it."

Pope had to bring the bike to a very slow speed to navigate some fallen branches and electrical wires. It was at that moment that Denny suddenly let go of him, and her head sagged sideways off his shoulder.

When her limp body tilted toward the ground, Pope reacted quickly. He grabbed onto her jacket with one hand and brought the bike screeching to a halt with his other hand on the brake lever.

He kicked down the stand and dismounted without releasing Denny's jacket. Facing her, he gripped both sides of her jacket and gave her a gentle shake. "Hey - kid," he said loudly. "Denny!"

Denny's chin had fallen down to her chest. After a moment, she made a quiet sound of confusion, and her eyes blinked open. She looked up at Pope, who saw that her pupils were different sizes.

"What's going on with you?" Demanded Pope.

"I... I..." Began Denny. "...I think it's happening again..."

"What are you talking about?" Said Pope with a frown.

Denny blinked slowly. A moment ago her cheeks had been rosy, but now her complexion was pale and she looked deathly ill. "Whatever happened to Ben before... whatever made me sick this morning. It's... happening again. It's in my spikes..." Grimacing, she raised her hands to her temples.

Pope looked very displeased to hear it. A permanent scowl seemed etched into his sharp features. "Your neck is lit up like a Christmas tree," he told her uncomfortably.

Just then, a sonic humming sound filled the sky. Both Pope and Denny looked up, lowering slightly toward the ground.

Thick flocks of blue beamers had crested the horizon, flying south. They weren't moving toward Pope and Denny... they were headed straight for camp.

"Jesus... It's starting," muttered Pope with his eyes on the sky. "Can you stand?"

Denny moved away from the bike and found her balance. "Yes," she answered, but she leaned down to put her hands on her thighs.

Pope veered the bike onto the shoulder of the road and pulled it to a stop beneath a thick canopy of trees. He turned around to look for Denny, but she hadn't moved from the open road yet. "Come on," he ordered. "Get under here!"

Denny did as she was told. Her feet shuffled, as though it was difficult to walk. When she was within reach Pope grabbed the shoulder of her jacket again and pulled her more quickly into deeper woods.

"It's on foot from here," said Pope in a low growl. They continued on with nothing but their packs and their weapons.

Denny struggled to keep up with Pope. "It's not far," she panted. "We're almost there."

Pope nodded shortly. "Good. And we both know the plan - we're on the same page?"

"Yes," said Denny, nodding. She looked green, and judging from her expression, she was trying not to vomit.

"Any questions?"

Denny shook her head but didn't muster a verbal response.

Pope didn't need one. "Alright. Then we're as ready as we're going to be."


	11. Intentions

A/N: I apologize for the delay in updates! Life gets a little crazy sometimes; I think we can all relate. I hope you enjoy this latest installment! Expect a much shorter wait time before chapter twelve. :)

Chapter Eleven

"Intentions"

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...

The air inside the Harley Davidson dealership was stale and silent. Most of the berserkers were outside in the parking lot preparing the building's defenses, but a few remained inside on the first floor. Their footsteps were quiet and when they spoke, it was only in hushed whispers.

An unconscious Ben had been taken to the second floor balcony by Lyle and Mike. They had chained him to the flat surface of a motorcycle lift, tightening the metal links that kept his arms secured around the bottom of the lift and his legs secured to the sides. He had no wiggle room... he wouldn't be able to move an inch.

"Turns out we can adapt, too," remarked Mike as he finished helping Lyle with the bindings. A pale beam of natural light filtered down through the unboarded window in the ceiling, and softly illuminated the jagged scar on the man's face. "Let's see him try to worm his way out of this one."

Lyle didn't answer at first. He knelt down beside the bike lift and peered at Ben's pale face in the low light.

"Don't worry, boss," said Mike. "You saw how quickly he heals. He'll be giving us trouble again any minute."

Lyle wore a troubled expression. "Yeah..." he muttered. "You're probably right. But I don't like this waiting..."

"Then don't wait." Mike reached for the heavy pliers that were on the railing nearby. He turned around and offered them to Lyle. "Keep going. Just because we have some unexpected time doesn't mean we have time to waste."

Lyle took the pliers, but stood up and shook his head. "I'm not trying to kill the kid, Mike. I'll keep going when I think he can handle it. And it's not that, man... I don't like waiting on Crazy Lee like this."

Mike failed to restrain a sneer. "She probably booked it," he was unconcerned. "She knows she can't go back to camp with that razor-back on the loose, so she's probably cruising the highway by now on her way to her next meal ticket."

Lyle fixed Mike with a withering stare. "I'm done listening to your bullshit, Hana. I'm about ready to knock your teeth out the next time you rail on Craze."

Mike met Lyle's stare and there was a gleam of challenge in his eyes. "Take your best shot," he said grimly. Neither of them moved.

There was a loud explosion in the distance, and both men lowered their bodies on instinct, looking upward.

"God damn..." hissed Mike. Their tense moment had broken and both men straightened up slowly. "If we're lucky... this could be the end of our problem."

"I don't think so," muttered Lyle. "They'll find a way to make it out. Like I said... cockroaches."

"Try some optimism. If the Second Mass goes under you've got the whole goddamn year to get those spikes out of the Mason kid's back."

Lyle straightened his shirt and looked back down at Ben. "Don't get ahead of yourself. One step at a time," he murmured. Then he pushed the pliers firmly into his belt. "Keep an eye on him, Mike. I need to check on the fifty-cals and make sure these idiots stay in line. We can't risk being seen from the air by a stray beamer."

"Sure thing, boss."

Lyle took the stairs two at a time and disappeared below the balcony.

Mike leaned over the railing to watch Lyle until the other man had left the building. After a brief recon of the others in sight, he turned back around and faced Ben. His fingers tapped lightly against his belt buckle and he took a few steps toward the bike lift, staring.

Ben's back rose and fell with shallow, uneven breaths. His skin shone slightly with a sheen of sweat that made his hair stick to his temples and forehead. From what Mike could see Ben's eyes were half-open, but it was impossible to tell if he was conscious.

The wound left by the missing spike had almost completely closed. Trails of blood stained the boy's sides, and his remaining spikes flickered brightly on and off. They reminded Mike of a switchboard going on and offline in a staggered pattern.

All-in-all, Ben Mason looked like he was on the brink of death. His third encounter with the taser seemed to have gotten the best of him.

...

...

...

Lyle Briggs helped Tony drag some leafy netting over a fifty-cal, camouflaging it well. Along the edges of the building other big guns were being similarly hidden, and bikes were being laid sideways under branches.

"Lenny," called Lyle quietly. "Take whoever you want and go to the end of the road. Set up an outpost - somewhere you can see anyone coming for miles. Make sure you can't be spotted by air."

Lenny gestured a salute, and nodded his chin toward a lanky, black haired man. "You in Bill?"

Bill and Lenny uncovered a bike. Lenny climbed on behind Bill, who revved the engine.

"Keep it as quiet as you can," growled Lyle.

The bike rumbled as the two men crossed the lot and rode down the driveway and into the street. The sound of the engine could be heard for a few minutes after they disappeared behind the trees, and then silence prevailed. The quiet was sharply punctuated by explosions in the distance, and occasionally the horizon lit up bright blue. The commencement of the battle back at camp sounded like thunder a few dozen miles away.

Lyle moved from station to station checking in with the men and re-checking the ammo. He wouldn't take the unexpected reprieve for granted... the enemy could still show up at the door any moment, whether aliens or Masons, and he would be ready for them.

"Nathan, batten down that gun," said Lyle impatiently to one of the berserkers. "Beamers will be able to see the sun glinting off that rice shooter until sundown."

"I got it," replied Nathan as he fixed the netting to fully cover the muzzle of the big gun. "Hey... Lyle."

Lyle looked back over at him to find Nathan staring across the parking lot. Lyle looked, too.

Lenny and Bill were slowly making their way back up the driveway on foot. There was no sign of their bike.

"Christ's sake," Said Lyle angrily, striding forward. "I gave you an order, boys. I don't want to see your faces again until we have a solid perimeter."

Lenny and Bill were walking stiffly with their empty hands at their sides. Just then, John Pope emerged from behind them. He held two guns in each hand, training them on his hostages' backs and using them to push the two berserkers forward.

With a grunt of surprise, Lyle whisked his nine millimeter from its holster and brought it up to aim.

"Don't shoot!" Lenny cried out.

"POPE!" Yelled Lyle. "You're only one man! There are too many of us!"

"Don't shoot," cried Lenny again. Pope was using the two of them as a shield. "Careful with that aim!"

Pope jabbed the guns roughly into their backs, forcing them forward. "Don't shoot, brother," Called Pope calmly. "Lyle - buddy. What are you trying to do to me, huh?"

"Don't move a step closer," called Lyle. "I'll shoot them both if I have to."

Pope rolled his eyes. "Take it easy, Father Patience," he retorted, as he continued moving Bill and Lenny forward. "I'm not here to fight you. Put down your toys before someone gets poked in the eye."

None of the four berserkers acquiesced; every gun sight was leveled on Pope. Lyle tightened his aim with two hands. He stared down the sights of his gun at Pope and the other two. Clearing his throat, he took his finger off the trigger. "If you're not here to bring us in then why are you here?" He demanded loudly.

"I know you better than this, Briggs," said Pope. He brought his hostages to a stop a few meters from Lyle and the building. "You wouldn't try to pull one over on me - not like this. I know you still want me on your side."

Lyle said nothing, giving Pope a chance to continue.

"Why don't you put down your guns and we can talk this out like gentlemen," he said firmly. "That way... you don't end up blowing a hole through the only head around here that can really make this happen the way you want."

Lyle's gun lowered a fraction of an inch. "Are you saying you're here to fight with us?"

Pope raised his eyebrows. "Where the hell else would I be? What did you think I would say if you told me, Briggs? No?"

Lyle hesitated again.

"You're no fool, you know me," continued Pope, keeping the barrels of his guns pressed against the two mens' backs. "You know I've wanted this since the first time Weaver put me on cooking duty. It's long overdue, and I'm the only one who can get it done with minimal loss of life. You know that."

Some of the other berserkers had begun to lower their weapons, but Lyle held up his hand to stop them. "Hold," he ordered. He kept his eyes on Pope. "If you're here to help us, let Bill and Lenny go, Pope."

Pope's eyes gleamed dangerously in the afternoon sun. "I'm not here to help you," he growled in a low tone. "You're here to help me."

For a long moment, none of them moved or said anything. Lenny and Bill stood awkwardly between Pope and the berserkers with their hands at their sides.

Then Pope exhaled audibly, and two metallic clicks could be heard. He let both his weapons drop from his hands and they clattered to broken pavement. "Alright," said Pope. He shoved Bill and Lenny forward and they stumbled away from him. Pope raised his hands and took a few steps toward the building, fixing Lyle with a smoldering stare. "There. See?"

"That's far enough," said Lyle.

Pope stopped walking. He held Lyle's eye contact with his fiery gaze. "Briggs... you know I'm right."

Lyle only lowered his weapon a few inches. Behind him, the others did the same.

"How did you find out?" Asked Lyle suspiciously.

"I followed you here," answered Pope easily. "Back to stealth 101 for one of these idiots... I think it was Tony. He can kiss night sentry duty goodbye for a while."

Lyle's weight shifted from side to side. It was clear he was struggling with conflicting reactions and uncertainty still clouded his face. "So you're here to make sure this thing is permanent. You're back in?"

"I was never out, you pin-headed cue ball. I worked my ass off over the past few years, and for what? This new order. I'm here to take my place in it and we all know what place that is."

Finally Lyle lowered his weapon all the way. There were clicks as the others stowed their guns, too. Bill and Lenny looked unprepared for a peaceful reunion; both of them eyed Pope distrustfully.

"Don't get me wrong, Pope," said Lyle with a somewhat apologetic ring to his tone. His demeanor had relaxed considerably. "I know you worked your ass off, we all know. Intentions were to bring you in but the aliens threw some shit in the fan. There was no time. This was never about you."

Pope's scowl deepened as he looked grimly from face to face. "Wrong... it is about me. I'm running this show now, and don't get _me_ wrong... every fucker in this place will have a boot shaped bruise so far up their ass that they won't be able to walk for a week when this is all over. Don't ever... _ever..._ go over my head again, Briggs."

"Cool your jets, boss man," Lyle reassured him. "You're here now. That's what matters. Hey... Pope. Did you see Craze on your way here?"

...

...

...

Without being seen, Denny slunk through the trees around the back of the dealership. She pressed her back against the outer wall and craned her neck to look upward. The eaves were a good thirty feet above her, but she didn't look worried. Her determination overshadowed the ill complexion of her face and the circles beneath her eyes.

She could hear the muffled voices of Pope and the other berserkers in the front lot. Ignoring them, she leaped onto the side of the building with a grunt of effort. Finding small handholds where she could, Denny scaled the sheer wall like a spider and made her way quickly toward the roof.

...

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	12. Not a Dream

Chapter Twelve

"Not a Dream"

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Ben was immersed in a sea of darkness. Black velvet curtains of nothingness rolled over him in waves. But it wasn't completely nothing... in front of him he could see what looked like the dark, reflective surface of a glassy lake. It was all there was.

The lake, and the elusive thoughts that tickled his mind. The thoughts were just out of reach, and every time one of them touched his awareness the surface of the lake broke into small ripples.

A gentle light played on those slender waves. It glimmered softly, smoothing the water into calm pools of gray.

Where did the light come from...? Wondered Ben.

It seemed as though there was someone there, out of sight.

As Ben concentrated on the ripples he realized he was looking at the blurred reflection of a face. His face? No...

Ben waited without fear. There was nothing to be afraid of... somehow he knew that.

The face began to swim into clearer view as he watched. The lines strengthened and the features firmed.

Ben felt like smiling as he recognized the black, curly hair and the glossy, dark eyes. It was Denny. She was smiling faintly back at him, but her eyes were a little sad.

Ben tried to find his voice. He couldn't feel his mouth, or his body. _Are you okay?_ He tried to ask. But there was no sound.

Denny's face brightened a little when he spoke. Her smile faded, and she opened her mouth to speak.

Ben couldn't understand her words. Her voice was a distant, echoing call.

_Denny,_ tried Ben again, though there was only silence. _Denny?_

The reflection blurred for a moment, and Ben saw Denny's smile fade.

He searched for his voice again. _Where are you? What happened?_

Denny was trying to answer, but the sound of her voice was still too far away to hear.

_What? _Ben tried to say. A heavy blanket of complexity was beginning to close in around him. _I can't hear you! I can't understand - no, wait! Don't go..._

But large ripples had broken the surface of the lake. The ripples grew and widened into large arcs, obscuring Denny's face from view.

_No! _he cried out silently.

The next moment the water was coming to life before him. It cascaded upward and crashed back down like the crest of a giant wave, then swelled upward again. Ben felt himself being pulled into the water as it swirled around him, covering him. He floated with it, around and around in a spiraling cyclone of darkness. Ben stopped trying to fight it...

Maybe Denny would be wherever he was going.

But as the water spun him around, pressing against him from all sides, it began to brighten. His senses were returning... he could feel his body again.

As suddenly as the wave had surged forth, it was gone. Once again, Ben was aware of his arms and legs. He could feel the dull soreness of his muscles.

It wasn't the weight of the water pressing down on him anymore - it was his own heavy body that cemented him to the earth.

His cheek was resting on cold metal. He let out a low groan and tried to move, but his arms and legs were tightly bound. He stretched his aching fingers slowly, curling his hands into fists and wiggling his toes.

Had Denny been a dream? He wondered reluctantly. He opened his eyes.

It wasn't Denny's face that greeted him.

It was the face of a badly scarred man.

"...Christ..." The man had spoken. His voice echoed around in Ben's skull like the far away call from his dream. He processed the man's words with sluggish confusion. "...Everyone knows I'm not a patient man..."

The ringing in Ben's ears abated slowly and his eyes flickered. Finally he focused on the man's steady gaze.

"Hi there." The voice was clearer now. "Sorry, kid, but personal spa hour has come to an end."

A weak shudder passed Ben's lips and he broke eye contact, trying to look around him at the room. He couldn't see much; there was light from one skylight filtering through the gloomy air. The bulky man beside him was sitting on a chair with a black taser in his lap, leaning forward. When he opened his mouth again Ben could smell beer on his breath.

"Sorry to rush you... Benji. But I've wasted so much time already," the man continued with a mild slur. "And you were right there the whole time."

Ben still felt slow and bewildered. He licked his dry lips and spoke in a dry rasp. "What... what's happening? Where's Denny...?"

Mike gave a hushed laugh. "I guess you were having a dream. You were saying her name in your sleep."

Ben stared sideways at Mike without comprehension. The puzzle pieces of his mind were screaming to be connected, but he was so tired...

He did remember the scarred, blond man...

"Are you with me, Benji?" Said the man more loudly. "You look a little confused. Snap out of it. Wake up, kid."

Suddenly a cold cascade of water broke against the side of Ben's face. He drew in a startled gasp and coughed, blinking through it, and shook his head to clear the water from his eyes. The memories returned to him with the abruptness of a sudden fall. Mike... Fleeting images and sounds rushed through his mind so quickly that it brought a sick feeling to his stomach. He spluttered on the water, taking ragged breaths.

"That's better," said Mike, seeing the expression change on Ben's face. "La La Land will be there when you get back. Let me be the bearer of bad news, Ben: Denny's not here. It's just you and me."

Ben gave a tug on the chains that secured his arms. He struggled for a moment, testing his restraints. Mike didn't bother reprimanding him, and Ben immediately knew why. He didn't even have a snowball's chance in hell of breaking out this time. The chains were too tight, and they were layered too thickly around his arms and ankles.

Mike leaned back in the chair and watched Ben's every move with a gleam in his eyes. He tipped his bottle up to his lips and chugged a few swallows of beer. When Ben stopped struggling, Mike chuckled. "That's what I thought," he leered.

"Wh... where's Lyle?" Rasped Ben.

"Don't worry about it," said Mike shortly, leaning in close to Ben again. "We don't need him for what comes next."

Ben kept his wary eyes fixed on Mike. He didn't speak, and he didn't try to move.

"I always liked looking at you, Benji. I just didn't know how much." Mike paused, and his eyes roved over Ben's form. "If I knew, I wouldn't have shat my precious time away in the nest... I would have been working on you all this time." Then Mike appeared to think twice, and he grinned darkly. "Well... not with old man Mason and brother buck around."

Ben tried to swallow but his mouth and tongue were like dry paper. He let his head drop back down until his cheek rested on the cold metal once more.

"Hey... hey," said Mike in a would-be-soothing manner. He stood up from his chair and hooked his thumb into his shiny belt buckle. It was all Ben could see of him now.

Then Ben felt the man's other hand flatten on his upper back. Ben's body tensed and his eyes flew open wide. "Don't touch me!" He grunted in protest.

"It's okay, Ben," said Mike gently. "Just relax..."

The man's warm hand stroked up and down the side of Ben's naked back. The calloused palm brushed across his skin, making him shiver, and two fingers trailed a path between his spikes.

Shudders ran down Ben's spine under Mike's gentle touch. Dread returned, rebuilding in his chest in chilling, icy waves.

"Stop..." his rasping voice had become a whisper.

"I'll help you feel better," crooned Mike quietly. The hand left his back to brush the wet hair away from his eyes. "Don't you want to feel good? Or do you want me to be the only one that gets off?"

"No," whispered Ben weakly. He couldn't look Mike in the eye anymore.

Mike rubbed Ben's back again, his fingers more insistent. Ben felt the man's thumb brushing gently against his shoulder blade. "Come on, Ben... Let me help you feel better. It's the best offer you're going to get around here, believe me."

Ben shut his eyes and squeezed them tight. He was paralyzed in body and mind.

Mike's hand slid down his lower back to the hem of his jeans. The man slipped his fingers beneath the fabric and tugged, gently at first. Then he tugged harder, trying to yank the jeans down over Ben's hips.

Ben would rather die. He silently prayed for death, rather than having to face this humiliation... "Don't touch me..." he uttered desperately from between clenched teeth.

A loud yell jolted Ben and he opened his eyes.

"Hana!"

Mike was startled by it, too. The call had come from the first floor, out of sight. "What?" Roared Mike.

"Get your ass down here!" It was Lyle's voice. "All of you, get outside. Muster in the lot so the boys can keep at it."

Mike let out an audible snarl and released the back of Ben's jeans. He strode toward the balcony railing and leaned over to glare down. "What the fuck for?"

"Muster, like I said," called Lyle. "Hurry up. We got some things to talk about."

But Mike wasn't going easily. "Like what, boss?" He demanded.

"Pope's back. That's 'like what.' So stop calling me boss and move your tail."

Ben could almost feel the anger and disappointment emanating from Mike. He couldn't see the man anymore, but he didn't have to.

Mike let out a low sound of fury deep in his throat. He picked up his gun from the railing and glanced over his shoulder at Ben. "You just want me to leave him without a guard? You know his tricks!"

"He can't do much in five minutes. Not when its the Fort Knox of bondage, you said it yourself. Come on, Mike, stop wasting time."

"Alright, alright," growled Mike as he headed for the stairs. "Long as no one comes in or out while I'm gone."

"And get your clean underpants because Pope's pretty damn sore," yelled Lyle.

"Didn't do nothin' wrong," barked Mike. He ground his teeth and took the stairs two at a time to the ground floor, then followed Lyle and the others outside.

Ben was left to breathe in silence, flooded by relief.

...

...

...

Denny was spread-eagled on the roof of the dealership with her face pressed against the skylight window. It was the only window in the whole building that wasn't sealed shut by boards of wood. She squinted through the glass at the interior below.

She watched as the berserker, Mike Hana, caressed Ben's back. With her heightened sense of hearing, she listened to his words. They made her blood boil... it took every ounce of her self control to keep from breaking through the window without delay.

But she had to stay in control... she had to wait.

She held very still until she heard the order given for the berserkers to meet in the parking lot. Good... all was going according to plan so far. Her dark eyes followed Mike Hana as he left the second level, and she listened for the sound of the door closing behind the last of them. The building was empty now.

Swiftly, she whipped out her dagger and slid it into the window frame beside the lock. She wiggled it back and forth until the tip of the blade caught on the lock, and when it did she carefully flipped the rusty lever open. With the window unlocked, she opened it. The window was barely large enough to fit one person at a time, but it would have to be good enough.

Quietly, she gripped the sides of the open glass window with both hands, and paused. She hesitated another moment... until the thunderous sound of a distant explosion rent the air. Timing it well, she wrenched the window completely out of its frame and set it on the roof beside her.

She lowered herself down through the hole until she hung from the window frame by one hand. Then she let herself drop. She landed silently like a cat on the wooden floor, and rushed immediately to Ben's side.

"Ben," she whispered urgently, leaning close. She carefully grasped the sides of his face. "Ben! Can you hear me?"

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Please review my loves!


	13. Plan B

**healther . mcdaniels: **Thanks for being my ass kicker lol. I wanted to get these chapters up faster and you've inspired me. Enjoy!

Chapter Thirteen

"Plan B"

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At first, Denny couldn't get Ben to look at her. His eyes rolled in his head and his back rose and fell raggedly with weakened breaths. When his sight would pass over Denny's face she had the distinct impression he didn't really see her.

"Talk to me, Ben," she murmured anxiously, looking him over for injuries. Her own eyes were wet with emotion as she gently wiped the tear tracks on his cheek. "Ben?"

Ben's red-rimmed eyes focused on Denny with difficulty. He held her gaze, his breathing unchanged.

"I'm getting you out of here," said Denny urgently. She still grasped the sides of his face with trembling fingers. "Are you with me, Ben?"

Her thumb brushed Ben's cheek again and Ben's eyelids wavered heavily. He almost closed his eyes and his breathing calmed. But then his eyes opened wider and he found Denny's gaze again. His eyebrows twitched and drew together in a hesitant frown. "Denny...?"

Relief and gratitude washed over Denny at the sound of Ben's voice. She dropped to her knees beside the motorcycle lift and leaned close to him at eye level. "It's me," she whispered as a tear slipped down her cheek. Her eyes took in the trails of blood down Ben's sides and across his back. She stared at the deep wound where a spike was missing, and the dark purple bruise that had spread up and down his spine, along with more bruises that had formed across his skin in other places. Anger boiled up in Denny's chest, impossibly hot in her throat, but she ground her teeth. She had to control it. For Ben's sake, she had to put it aside.

Once she had stopped her anger from spilling out in a flood of tears, she looked back at Ben's face. "We don't have much time - it's now or never, Ben."

Ben still seemed dazed. He didn't answer her at first, but his frown deepened a little. Then he opened his mouth again. "You're... you're not a dream?"

Denny exhaled a worried, impatient breath. "No, I'm not. Ben, are you listening?"

Ben fell silent again and watched Denny with no change in his expression. His eyes became a little distant, as though he had retreated into memory. His shoulders trembled as though a chill had gone up his spine.

"Please, Ben..." urged Denny. Tears filled her eyes again, making them burn. Plan A was sliding off the table with every passing minute but now it seemed impossible. Ben's physical condition was much worse than Denny had hoped for. She didn't know if he could even stand, let alone make it through that skylight. She leaned close to his face again. "Please be with me..." She begged quietly.

Ben's pupils contracted and he focused once more on Denny's face. He tried to swallow before speaking. "You're here? How did you...?"

"No," said Denny abruptly, cutting him off. Shaking her head she took her hands off Ben's face. "Not right now. First we have to get out of here. Together."

Without wasting another second, Denny rolled down onto her side and pulled herself under the motorcycle lift. In the same movement she drew her knife with her free hand. With access to the underside of the lift she could easily see the three padlocks that held the chains in place.

_Nothing I can't handle,_ she thought with frantic purpose. She gripped her knife upside down by its handle and struck the first padlock as hard as she could. There were sparks, and the metal bent in the middle. With superhuman strength Denny struck it again, and again, until the shackle broke loose from the locking bar and the padlock dropped to the floor.

Denny didn't wait. Feverishly, she began to work on the second lock. Blunt force would do the trick... She continued to strike the second lock until the mechanism broke apart, then moved to the third. It wouldn't take long... she almost had it.

The sound of a solid click from the lower level of the building froze Denny mid-motion. Someone had opened the front door, and a couple footsteps reached her ears. Holding her knife an inch away from the mangled third lock, she waited under the bike lift in silent fear.

"Mike," yelled a voice from the parking lot outside. It was Pope's voice. "Get your ass back here!"

There was a pregnant pause, then two more clunking footsteps sounded as the berserker looked outside. "I told you, I don't want it on my head if - "

"I haven't even assigned your watch yet because you've been whining like Mama's little bitch. If you don't want a part in this just let me know, and you'll be out on your ass quicker than bird shit."

After a long moment, Mike Hana growled angrily and Denny heard the hinges of the door squeak. The double click that followed told her he was gone again.

Denny quietly let the breath out of her lungs in the silence. She hadn't realized she had held it in. Returning her attention to the problem at hand, she delivered the final blow to the third lock and let it drop, broken.

She stood up and took the heavy chains in her hands, beginning to unwind them from Ben's arms and ankles. Each metal link that left his skin revealed swollen purples bruises underneath. The sight of it made Denny catch her breath. Another tear forced its way past her defenses and slipped down her cheek. "God... Ben..." she whispered under her breath. She knew if she tried to speak out loud the dam would break, and so would she.

As soon as Ben could move he tried to sit up. His muscles protested painfully and his bones ached to the core. He suppressed groans of pain as Denny appeared beside him and helped him sit. His back felt like a broken baseball bat, cracked in the middle - his spine couldn't hold his weight without jarring, searing pains surging through his hunched frame.

He needed to force the pain into the back of his mind. It was the only way to move forward. _I can do this,_ he told himself fiercely. He had to do it, because now Denny was involved. He was no longer the only one in danger.

He could wonder about how she found him later. For now, he gave his head a sharp shake to clear the blurriness from his eyes, and let his legs swing over the side of the lift. He pushed himself gently off the edge until his feet touched the floor, then let go with his hands. A wave of dizziness took him and his knees buckled, sending him stumbling forward. He would have fallen if Denny hadn't grabbed hold of his arm and heaved him upright, plastering herself to his side until he could get his feet back under him.

As soon as Ben was a little steadier, Denny let go of him. "That's it," she encouraged quietly. "Can you walk?"

Ben took a shaking step. The wooden floor was cool under his bare feet. His thighs shook with tension but he took another step, and that was when his legs failed him again. This time when his knees collapsed he fell forward, landing hard on the edge of a rickety table. His sudden weight knocked it off its legs and objects on the table went flying. With a breathless grunt he rolled out of the splintery ruin and tried to right himself, but soon realized his quivering muscles couldn't get him into a seated position. A low sound of pain and anxiety escaped him as he tried to prop himself on one elbow, searching for Denny's presence.

He saw that Denny was already there, and he felt her bracing him from the side. She helped him sit up a little further. "What is it, Ben? Is it your spikes?"

Ben's breaths were ragged again. "I don't know," he rasped. "I think so - but you - you have to go, Denny - you can't be here!"

"No!" Denny sounded furious at the idea. "Come on, Ben..."

But Denny knew now that Ben wouldn't be able to escape through the skylight. Plan A was toast... Plan B was something she had come up with on her own. Without Pope's knowledge. And it was too dangerous... the risks were too great.

"Denny!" Gasped Ben, grabbing her by the front of her shirt and pulling her out of her thoughts. His voice was breaking. "You have to go! I-I - I won't let you die for me!"

Denny wrapped her arms around Ben's neck and clutched the side of his head against her chest. "Shut up!" She hissed desperately, looking around for another way. "I'm not leaving you!"

Ben couldn't fight her, or make her leave. All he could do at that moment was to remain in her arms, half-sitting, half-sprawled in the wreckage of the table.

Denny stared over the top of Ben's head at the motorcycle lift where Ben had been bound. As though in conflicted thought, she glanced down at her waistline and released Ben with one arm. With hesitant movements, she lifted her shirt and drew a small, red-barreled gun from the band of her jeans. She held it tightly in her free hand, staring at it with wide eyes.

Ben was staring at it, too. "What are you going to do with th-that?" He croaked.

"Use it," said Denny quietly. She didn't meet Ben's eyes and would only look at the gun in her hand.

Ben put his hand over it, trying to push it down into Denny's lap. "That's a flare gun, Denny. The berserkers are outside... you can't beat th-them with a flare gun, and you know it. You have to get out - "

"If you tell me to leave you behind one more time," warned Denny frantically, "You'll be sorry..." She yanked her hand and the flare gun out from beneath Ben's fingers.

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...

"If you never left then what was all that on the radio?"

"You're taxing me Lenny, and you know that's saying a lot, since I can put up with a whole lot of pig shit. "

"Answer the question, Pope - what was all the... 'he's just a kid,' 'the mission is my life'? That was a lie?"

The berserkers were gathered in a small cluster just outside the Harley Davidson dealership. Lenny and Bill stood together while the others ranged about, all of them facing Pope.

Pope wore an expression of infinite indifference tinged with danger. He leaned his weight on one hip with his thumbs in his jeans pockets. His attention had gone to each of the men as he had answered their questions and responded to their suspicions in turn. He dealt with those by making sure they all knew there would be retribution later on for their insinuations. Pope was in no danger. He knew they would never turn on him to his face with his second in command standing there.

His second, Lyle, was the only one who had accepted Pope's return with more or less zero doubt. Pope felt the hint of an inward cringe at the thought of burning that bridge for good. Lyle had always been a good friend, and he was a good man. But Pope would never be able to trust the berserkers again. If he threw his hat in with this, he would be sleeping with one eye open for the rest of his life. And in truth, he wanted revenge for the wool they had tried to pull over his eyes so he could put a damper on everything the red-eyed skitter had made him see.

So he wanted their suspicions to last as long as possible, to keep the group out here in the parking lot and delay them from going back inside. "You know as well as I do Weaver's on the other end of that radio," he pointed out to Lenny. His tone was a warning. "He hears everything we say. Are you trying to throw the whole game?"

"Lenny, shut your pie flap," grunted Lyle. He stood at the edge of the circle with his arms crossed. "This was Pope's from the start, and I never told you any different."

Lenny looked as though he wanted to say more, but he held his tongue, sending doubtful looks toward Lyle and Pope.

The others exchanged dark looks, too, but no one said anything more.

Pope started to feel agitated. How long would the girl need? He began to regret the lack of foresight in not choosing a signal for the all-clear.

"Hana," he said loudly. "You haven't said much. Better get it off your chest now, big guy..."

Mike Hana had an unreadable look in his eyes as he watched Pope and the others. "I'll say something when I got something to say," he growled. His face was red and a little sweaty.

Pope shrugged. "Your call, but this is the one and only time I'll let you feed me bullshit - just so we're clear. After this meeting, honesty time is over and you'll follow orders like a good soldier. You'll keep your mouth shut."

Mike shoved both hands into his jacket pockets. He stared silently at Pope from under the shadow of his heavy brows.

_Damn... nothing?_ Thought Pope. He cast in his mind for something else to say. Something that would require everyone's presence even while they should all be preparing for battle.

But he didn't have to think for long.

Suddenly there was a loud bang, and a bright red plume of smoke shot forth from the roof of the building. The flare soared high into the sky and began to fall in a wide curve.

The berserkers stared up at it for a short moment. Then every man's weapon was in his hand.

"What did you do?" Yelled Lenny at Pope.

"What did I - ? What the fuck did YOU do, hombre?" Roared Pope in return. "I'm not the one who set up shop in the biggest building in town!" He turned to Lyle, stripped of his casual indifference in exchange for an air of urgency. "Lyle! Who's left inside?"

"No one," barked Lyle with his gun pointed at the ground. "Just the Mason kid!"

Pope swore inwardly. _What the fuck did that girl do?_

"That flare will bring every beamer for twenty miles!" Yelled Mike furiously.

The others were all talking so loudly that Pope had to exert the full power of his shout to get their attention. "MEN! GET TO YOUR POSITIONS! Tony and Lyle on the big guns! The rest of you get loaded up! This is it, boys!"

In that moment, each and every man seemed grateful for the leadership, and suspicions were cast aside. They scrambled for their firearms and slid into place behind camouflaged sand bags.

Mike Hana had grabbed his AK-47 as well, but instead of readying for an attack with the others he turned around on his heel. He blasted through the front door with his shoulder and disappeared back into the building.

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Leave your thoughts and comments! Please and thank you :)


	14. Stay

**heather . mcdaniels : **I know, I'm infamous for cliff-hangers. Since this story has basically become a private conversation between you and me, I just thought I would start a little chat lol.

**A/N- **This chapter contains the mildly descriptive death of a canon character.

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Chapter Fourteen

"Stay"

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Denny ran back to Ben's side and knelt beside him. She shoved the smoking flare gun back into the waistband of her jeans and took hold of the front of Ben's shirt. The torn edges gave way and the only fabric still attached was the collar around his neck.

"Why did you do that?" Said Ben hoarsely. His eyes were round with shock. "We'll be kil - "

"No we won't," said Denny briskly with a shake of her head. "Come on, Ben - you have to get up."

Ben tried to push himself up. His feet slid on the floor pushing his elbow out from under him and sending him back into the debris from the broken table. His arms and shoulders trembled as he searched for his bearings. With Denny's help he curled forward and tried to sit up again. He had never experienced such an utter lack of bodily control. Tension and pain radiated through his body, compounding in his spikes and making his back muscles seize. He grunted in pain and dropped backward again, barely catching himself on one arm.

Sweat stood out on Ben's clammy skin. "Denny - " he breathed out hard, "I don't know if I..."

Denny covered Ben's lips with her palm, stopping his words. She leaned over him until their faces were only inches apart. Her cheeks were red and her eyes shone with held-back emotion as Ben met her gaze.

"Yes you can," whispered Denny forcefully. "You have to, Ben..."

Her eyes flickered down to Ben's lips. And then without warning, she dipped her head forward and pressed her lips against Ben's, kissing him firmly.

Ben felt a sudden surge of strength jolt through his body. His eyes widened and his breathing slowed.

As Denny's lips pressed against his, electricity ran through Ben like lightning. He felt it coursing through his limbs, down into his fingers and toes. It passed into him through their contact, clearing some of the cobwebs from his mind and knitting through his muscles and nerves. The warm energy remained, sending pleasant chills up and down his spine. There was a fluttering, tingling sensation deep in his stomach that made him utter a sound of surprise and ecstasy into their kiss.

All at once, Ben felt stronger. He didn't hurt as much anymore, and his back no longer ached and groaned with every movement. Coming to his senses, he realized his hands were gripping the sides of Denny's arms. His fingers dug gently into her skin.

With a sharp intake of breath, Ben broke off the kiss. He stared at Denny's face, panting. Faint light from the ceiling window was caught in Denny's eyes, and her skin seemed to glow with color. For a moment there was only silence as they stared at each other. Silence, and their heartbeats.

Then Ben sat up so quickly that Denny almost toppled backward.

Ben held her arms to steady her, and pulled her close to him again. "What did you do...?" He asked in quiet, awed confusion.

Denny looked just as bewildered as Ben felt. She touched Ben's jaw and gently pushed his head to one side, looking at the back of his neck. "Your spikes," she murmured with a frown. "They're not blinking anymore."

Ben reached his hand to the back of his neck and covered one of his spikes. All he could do was try to make sense of what he had felt, and it was proving difficult.

Ben still hadn't let go of Denny's arms. He didn't want to look away from her softly illuminated face, or her dark, glimmering eyes. Denny seemed similarly trapped by Ben's gaze, and neither of them moved for another minute.

Then, the air around them began to hum.

Reluctantly, Ben and Denny both turned their eyes to the ceiling and listened. The humming intensified.

Denny and Ben got to their feet, still looking up. Ben stumbled a little, but caught himself on Denny's shoulder.

"They're here..." whispered Denny

"Was this part of the plan?" Asked Ben quietly.

Denny swallowed and fixed a worried stare on Ben. "Yes."

There was a loud crash downstairs as the front door burst open, letting in the frantic yells of the men outside. Loud footsteps echoed through the building as someone ran to the stairs and took them two at a time.

"Come on!" Said Denny quickly. She took Ben's hand and pulled him toward the back of the room. They kept their heads down as they moved away from the open balcony.

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...

Blue beamers descended on the Harley Davidson dealership in droves. There were at least thirty of them. They streaked across the sky, performing tight circles in the air above the hillside as they drew nearer.

"HOLD YOUR FIRE!" Bellowed Lyle. "Hold!"

Each man was crouched behind his weapon, with his sights trained to the skies.

"Man the 50 caliber! I want every man with a stovepipe!" Yelled Lyle. "Keep your eyes on the lead beamer! The second he crosses the 500-yard threshold, open them up, boys! Give them everything we got!"

"Where's Pope?" Called someone from the corner of the building.

Lyle took his eyes off the alien aircraft for a hurried moment to look around. But Pope was nowhere to be seen.

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...

The ceiling sloped downward more steeply the further back they got. They passed a couple desks and some rows of dusty equipment, aiming for the darkness of the far corners of the room.

Ben tripped over his feet as they ran. Denny embraced him from the side, trying to keep them running, but he almost went down this time. His knee skinned across the wooden floor before he was on his feet again, and they kept moving.

But they wouldn't get that far.

A gravelly voice rang out behind them. "YOU'VE LOST, MASON!"

Ben and Denny spun around at the same time. Denny kept her arm around Ben to keep him steady.

Mike Hana stood about thirty yards away. The pistol clutched in his white-knuckled hand was aimed at Ben and Denny.

Ben's mind raced. He went into survival mode in an instant. But beside him, so did Denny.

Denny threw herself toward Mike with a yell of fury. It must have been very unexpected, because Mike looked startled and tripped backward a step. Recovering, the man tightened his aim on Denny and squeezed off a few rounds through his silencer.

Denny dodged and leaped from side to side as she barreled forward, and the bullets missed her. She ricocheted off a desk and came at Mike from the opposite side in a flash of clothing. With one foot she kicked the man's knee out from under him, sending him sprawling backward. Mike hit a shelf of oil cans and they fell on top of him, but he rolled aside quickly.

Ben ran toward the fray, slow but angry. Denny was already straddling Mike by the time the berserker untangled himself from the shelf. She grappled with him, trying to take his gun.

Ben was about to leap on top of Mike's torso, to break his gun arm, but Denny stopped him.

"Stay back!" Cried Denny. She forcefully shouldered him out of immediate danger. "Get away - !"

_Bang!_

Close-up, the gunshot momentarily stunned Ben despite the pistol's silencer.

Suddenly, Mike pushed Denny off of him. He shoved her with enough force to knock Ben over when they collided.

Ben caught her around the middle and they both fell backward. Ben landed on his rear, clutching Denny close to break her fall as well, and pulled her backward across the floor as he tried to get up to his knees.

Slowly, Mike stood up. There was a dangerous and wild look in his eyes. His stubbled skin was flushed and sweaty as he raised the pistol to point at them once more. "I didn't want to kill you, Benji..." his voice was soft, but it sent a ripple of fear down Ben's skin.

Ben stayed on his knees, like Denny, and he was still holding her up. He glanced at the back of her neck, and then quickly looked again. Her head was resting forward on her chest, and her arms hung limply at her sides. He couldn't see her face.

"Denny," said Ben fervently, giving her a shake from behind. "Denny?" The pitch of his voice rose as he turned her by the shoulder and lifted her chin, trying to see her face.

Denny's eyes were half-closed, and her lips were parted. Slowly, her eyes lifted to look at Ben. As they did, a trickle of blood dripped from the corner of her mouth, and she coughed. More blood leaked down her chin and neck.

"Wait - no," cried Ben in horror, "Oh - God - Denny - talk to me, Denny, keep your eyes open!" Ben released Denny gently to the floor until she lay on her back and he leaned over her. He ran his hand along her front.

His fingers found a small hole in the front of Denny's sweater, right below her chest. He touched it, feeling the edges, and brought his hand away.

His fingers were covered in blood.

"You shot her," gasped Ben. He ripped the shreds of his shirt from around his neck and rolled it into a ball, then pressed it hard against Denny's wound. "Denny? You have to stay awake!"

A groan bubbled from Denny's lips. Her chin lifted, and more blood seeped from side of her mouth.

"Take your hands off her," ordered Mike's hard voice.

Ben had almost forgotten about his own peril. He looked up at Mike, but pressed the shirt harder against Denny's wound, trying to slow the bleeding.

"I told you - " began Mike, but Ben cut him off.

"I won't let her die!" He cried desperately. "You'll have to kill me, too!"

But Mike had the upper hand. "GET THE FUCK OFF HER, MASON!" He yelled, and rushed forward with his pistol aimed at Ben's head.

Ben was forced backward onto his heals, but Mike kept coming. Aiming his pistol at Ben's forehead, he pushed the boy onto his backside on the floor, until Ben leaned so far back he had to brace on his elbow.

Ben stared up the barrel of the gun. Time seemed to slow down as he saw Mike's finger curl around the trigger.

_This is it..._

"I told you I'm not a patient man," said Mike softly. "I wanted you to live, Benji... I wanted a lot more than that. But we're all as good as dead, anyway, thanks to you. It's too late now..."

Ben's heart hammered madly in his chest. One of his hands was raised, his palm stretching outward as if to stop a bullet. To him, the fleeting moment seemed to last forever.

_"See you in hell, Mason." _

Mike's words were followed by the sound of an empty click.

"God damn it..." muttered Mike. He took his eyes off Ben and tried to clear the jam from his gun.

The moment he did, Ben inhaled sharply and scrambled to his feet. He jumped forward, but in the split second before closing the distance another gunshot sounded.

Ben stumbled to a halt and stared at Mike.

Mike looked up at Ben, and then down at his chest. A circle of red was ballooning across his shirt. Without breaking eye contact, Mike dropped his gun to the floor and slumped sideways. He landed on his back and lay still.

Where Mike had been, now stood John Pope. Smoke still curled from the muzzle of his gun.

Ben gazed in confusion between Pope and Mike's limp body. Ben's eyes flickered between the loaded gun and Pope's face. He retreated a few steps until his foot touched Denny's leg.

Pope came forward, but Ben stepped over Denny, covering her, and lowered himself. "Stay back," he warned breathlessly.

But Pope didn't stop coming.

"Stay there! Don't come any closer," said Ben as he crouched there. Pope ignored him and continued to approach, only stopping when Ben let out a fearful growl of, "Stop!"

Pope stopped. He stared at Denny, lowering his gun. Then his eyes met Ben's.

But Ben looked away from Pope the moment the gun was lowered. He grasped Denny's face and bent over her. "Please, Denny..." he uttered shakily. "Please don't die..."

Denny's eyelids fluttered. She opened her eyes part-way, but she couldn't seem to focus on him.

Tears made fresh tracks in the dust and dirt on Ben's face. He cupped the sides of Denny's head. "Please," he begged again. Then something occurred to him, and desperately he pressed his lips against Denny's. When she had kissed him he felt stronger. His pain had gone away... Maybe he could save her that way.

But Denny's lips were cold. Ben kissed her firmly for a long moment, then pulled away to look at her face again. He wiped some blood away from the side of her mouth.

Denny's eyelids fluttered. "Ben..."

Ben gasped, nodding his head. "It's me." He couldn't stop his voice from breaking. "It's me, Denny, can you see me?"

A shallow breath passed over Ben's face from Denny's dry lips. The corners of her mouth twitched weakly, almost like she was trying to smile.

"Answer me, Denny," said Ben, leaning close enough to kiss her again. Why hadn't it worked?

Denny's body shuddered weakly. "Benji..." her eyes rolled sideways, before she tried to focus on Ben again. "You... always h...hated that name..."

"No," whispered Ben. When he shook his head his own tears fell onto Denny's cheeks. "It's a good name."

Denny tried to smile again, but it was brief. A rough shudder shook her and she gasped to draw a breath.

"No," ground out Ben between his teeth. "No! Breathe, Denny, you're going to be okay - "

Denny's body went still again. She took a short, shaky breath. "I love you, Ben..." it was barely loud enough to hear. "You can trust him."

Ben stared in horror at Denny's face. "Who?" He asked in a high-pitched voice that cracked with grief.

But Denny's eyes closed most of the way, and the breath in her lungs rushed past her lips. Then she was still. Ben was still, too. Not even the humming of the beamers overhead could draw him from this moment. He couldn't look away from her face, and he didn't want to. He couldn't accept it... it wasn't real.

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Sorry for the somber note. :P Things will be okay, I promise! Though there's plenty more hurt-comfort to come.


	15. Stumble On

**heather . mcdaniels: Oh yay! I love hearing your thoughts on each chapter. Sorry for the lateness of this one - I had the quarantine blues. I hope you're staying safe out there!**

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Chapter Fifteen

"Stumble On"

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Ben held the sides of Denny's face in his trembling hands. He stared searchingly into her sightless, half-closed eyes, and his thumb brushed tensely back and forth across her cheek.

She seemed almost peaceful. Her face was relaxed, as though at any moment she might blink or smile tiredly up at him. There was no sign of anger or sadness about her anymore. She was only still.

Ben let out a shaky burst of breath and tightened his hands on Denny's cheeks. His features were twisted with grief and refusal as he watched her unmoving face. He couldn't look away.

In his mind's eye he saw the knowing, sad expression Denny had worn in his dream. Thinking back to it, Ben thought she'd looked prepared, as though somehow she already knew what would happen.

But she couldn't have known... thought Ben numbly. Because it's impossible...

John Pope still gripped his pistol in his hand, it's barrel pointed toward the floor. Uncertainly, he hovered nearby thumbing the side of his pistol, torn between urgency and a sense of loss. Denny could have grown on him... maybe she already had. She was alright for a razorback, but now she was dead. He had told her to go back to camp... why hadn't she?

Then his eyes slid to Ben Mason. Naked and bruised from the waist up, and covered in blood, Ben looked pale and sick. If Denny had seen what Pope had seen through Red-Eye, he was sure it explained her choice to come with him. But the girl's determination did nothing to ease the hint of guilt in the pit of Pope's stomach.

On the floor, Ben leaned closer over Denny. One of his hands still held the torn shirt against Denny's wound. He couldn't seem to understand what had happened.

He looked lost. But John Pope didn't have time for that.

"Mason," said Pope quietly. His voice sounded loud in the stale, musty air.

Ben gave no sign of hearing him.

Suddenly the electric humming sound intensified above them, and Pope glanced at the ceiling. "Hey... Mason," he muttered again. "Twenty seconds until this joint goes fubar."

But instead of acknowledging Pope's words, Ben bent closer to Denny. His forehead dropped against Denny's chest, and Pope recognized the stifled sound of a held back cry.

Pope waited only a few more seconds, giving them a final moment together. Then he strode forward purposefully. "Listen, Mason, it's time to haul ass," he growled.

Ben's head snapped up and his eyes flashed dangerously as he raised himself into a crouch. "Stay away from her," he said through clenched teeth. He grabbed a knife from Denny's belt and held it out toward Pope in a clear warning.

Pope halted and held up his free hand. He felt no threat from the boy - a knife was something he could easily handle - but when the light from the open ceiling window fell on Ben, it illuminated the boy's condition and stopped Pope in his tracks. Up close, the Mason kid looked clammy, pale and close to death. His arms and legs shook slightly as if he'd lost control of some voluntary movement, and the bruises were much worse in the light of day. Ben Mason looked a lot worse than Pope had expected. If he was honest with himself, Mason looked like he had been tortured.

So when Pope spoke, he abandoned his usual dry snarkyness and tried to use a low, calming tone. "Take it easy, Ben. I'm on your side," he said with his free hand still in the air, nonthreatening.

Ben didn't seem to hear him. His voice caught in his tight, dry throat. "Don't touch her," he tried to growl.

Pope needed to get through to the boy, and he needed to do it fast. He fought to maintain as calm a demeanor as he could, but it was a posture he was mostly unfamiliar with. "I'm not here to hurt you," he said quietly. "If I wanted to hurt you - or Denny - I wouldn't have shot Mikey in the back." He paused, then continued. "Denny was the one who brought me here to save your ass."

Ben stared up at him wordlessly. When no response came, Pope went on. "See?" he said, using four fingers to lift his pistol up to his belt. He gently pushed the sidearm back into its holster and Ben's red-rimmed eyes followed his every movement. Pope fixed a firm stare back on the boy. "But you need to listen to me now, Mason. I'm not dying here tonight. And if you want to live to see tomorrow you need to say your goodbyes and get on your feet."

Ben broke eye contact with Pope and looked back down at Denny's face. It seemed like he wouldn't speak, but then he gave a light shudder. "You didn't see it..." he whispered under his breath. Then a little louder... "It was my fault."

"She's dead," said Pope firmly. He had taken a louder, more commanding tone and his eyes reflected his authority. "The rest doesn't matter now, just save it for later. Get a hold of yourself, Mason!"

Ben took an unsteady breath.

But Pope didn't have time to be gentle anymore. "We're getting the fuck out of here," he ordered. He didn't expect an answer, so he didn't wait for one. He swept forward in a hurry and knelt beside Ben and Denny.

Ben's eyes widened in alarm and he let out a sound of protest, grabbing the front of Pope's jacket. He tried to push the man away from Denny, but Pope shoved him aside with ease. He took Ben's place above Denny and gazed down at her for a fleeting split-second.

Then he gently closed her eyes the rest of the way with the tips of his fingers.

Ben clambered back into a crouch and shoved his hands against Pope's chest, trying to push him back. "Don't touch her!" He gasped with anger sparking in his eyes.

But Ben's effort to budge the larger man yielded no result. Pope overpowered the boy's weakened defenses and easily thrust him back once more.

This time, Ben recovered quickly. He let out a yell of fury and launched himself over Denny's prone body toward Pope. In a tangle of limbs he bowled the man over and they tumbled backward, landing in a roll. Ben struggled to come out on top and when he did, he drew his fist back and struck Pope as hard as he could across the cheekbone, drawing blood. He landed another blow to Pope's temple, but then Pope rocked his hips and bucked Ben off him to one side. Deftly, Pope twisted his body and rolled over on top of Ben, pinning him to the floor by his shoulders and anchoring him with his hips. "Stop!" Barked Pope, forcing Ben to drop Denny's knife. "What are you doing - ? Have you lost your fucking mind, Mason? Stop fighting me!"

Ben's hands clawed frantically at Pope's arms. "I told you not to touch her!" He ground out. "Leave her alone!"

"Enough!" Shouted Pope. He was barely able to keep the boy pinned. "Stop, Mason - listen to me - !"

"NO!" Ben's eyes were feral as kicked his legs out and thrashed. His knees struck Pope's back with little effect. "Let me up!"

"She was talking about me!" Yelled Pope. He had inadvertently sprayed Ben's face with spit.

Ben continued to struggle. Panting, he thrashed side-to-side and tried to buck his hips the way Pope had done.

But Pope bore down on him hard. _"What was the last thing Denny said to you_?!" He shouted.

For a moment Ben calmed his struggles. He glared up at Pope, his chest heaving.

Pope felt a flicker of accomplishment as Ben momentarily ceased his fight. He calmed his voice again and gentled his hands. "She was talking about me," he panted, staring down at Ben. "You remember what she said? She told you to trust me!"

Ben didn't look away from Pope as he tried to catch his breath. He gave one fierce jerk of his shoulders.

"That's why I saved your ass - " grunted Pope, retraining Ben more tightly for a moment. He knew the tables had turned in his favor, and his voice was quieter now. "And if you die tonight, Denny's last effort was a fat fucking failure."

They stared at each other, neither of them speaking. Pope saw a glaze of fear return to the Mason kid's eyes in the absence of angry defiance. He hadn't expected that, but he would wonder about it later. Now was not the time. "Are we on the same page?" He demanded of the boy.

Ben swallowed hard. He had stopped fighting, but there was nothing relaxed about his body. He seemed lost for words.

Against his better judgment, Pope let go of Ben's shoulders and swung his leg off of him. Liberated, Ben pulled himself away from Pope across the floor and raised himself halfway up.

Pope knelt again beside Denny's body with his eyes fixed on Ben. "Think about what you saw me do," he said firmly. "Think about what she said."

Ben blinked a few times. Their tussle had returned some of the color to his face, but only a little, and it seemed like he was about to answer Pope.

Just then a sharp screech tore through the air. The humming above them intensified into a blistering roar that shook the walls, and both Ben and Pope looked upward. A brief moment later an explosion sounded below them, quickly followed by another.

The beamers were attacking. They were targeting their weapons on the front wall of the building where the berserkers were stationed. A deafening hail of gunfire erupted as the berserkers began to return fire.

The base of one wall was blasted into a crumbling heap of cinders. Tiny splinters of wood flew through the air like bullets and smoke engulfed Ben and Pope as natural light flooded the building from outside. Shouts could be heard through the opening as rifles and the fifty caliber machine gun spat waves of shells into the sky. But another explosion rocked the opposite side of the building and the pillars that held up the balcony creaked and groaned.

Pope grabbed Ben by the upper arm and pushed him flat against the stairs. "Get down!" He yelled over the eruption of sound. "Cover your head!"

Ben flung his arm over his face, ducking his head. Splinters and debris stung his skin wherever it struck him, leaving thin burns and scrapes across his skin, and he coughed harshly on plumes of thick smoke. The staircase shuddered under them.

Another explosion rattled clouds of dust from the rafters and set the staircase swaying dangerously. Ben lifted his arm an inch to peer out from under his elbow. Everything seemed to move in slow-motion as his eyes found Denny.

Denny's body lay on the floor under falling plumes of dust. Her eyes were closed and her arms rested gently across her front, covering her bullet wound. Ben stared at her through the torrent of sound and debris.

Pope made a hasty decision. "We have to move!" He shouted, yanking Ben by the arm. "Jump for it!"

Ben's only option now was to trust Pope.

_iBANG!_

But the next blast shook the air itself. The ceiling above them exploded into hundreds of fiery splinters that rained down on Pope and Ben from above. Both of them covered their faces against the cascade of fiery shards and broken glass, and the staircase swayed dangerously. Pained, creaking sounds of breaking wood added to the noise of gunfire as the whole staircase came loose from the balcony and buckled in the middle.

Then with a loud groan, the wooden stairs wrenched apart from the balcony and collapsed out from under the two of them.

Ben and Pope were thrown violently into the burning debris below.

Ben landed on his back amid the smoldering wreckage and gasped for breath. The impact had sucked the air from his lungs like a vacuum and he gasped and wheezed, fighting the tightness of his chest. Coughing and choking, he rolled onto his side and tried to avoid open flames. His eyes found Pope nearby.

Pope was kneeling in the blackened coals with his hands clasped tightly around something on his chest. The sharp point of a large splinter protruded from just below his right shoulder, slicked with blood. Ben felt sick as he realized the back end of the shard jutted out from Pope's back.

"Move it or lose it... Mason," hissed Pope. His fingers slipped around the point of the splinter that impaled him. "On your feet!"

Ben lurched forward to stand as he tried to catch his breath. "Your shoulder - " He panted as he tripped closer.

Pope got unsteadily to his feet as Ben neared. "It's nothing. Let's go," he growled. "If there's a back door, your friend - would've gotten it unlocked when she scouted..."

Ben tried to support Pope from the side, but Pope gave a stubborn growl and kept the boy at bay with one blood-covered hand. "I said... move it or lose it, soldier!"

They retreated toward the back of the building, keeping their heads down. Pope scanned the back wall for a door and found it quickly. But as far as he could tell, it was boarded shut by a dozen thick planks of wood. Denny wouldn't have been able to use her tricks on that one without alerting the men inside...

Another deafening blast hit the building. It reduced the wall between them and the door to ashes and knocked them backward off their feet. Hot air rushed above their heads and shards of debris left skinny nicks on their faces. The wall of the building had opened up before them and Ben could see the parking lot through the thickening smoke.

"Now or never, kid," yelled Pope over the loud reports of returning gunfire. Blood dripped down the outside of his leather jacket, but he didn't seem to notice or care. He shoved Ben forward by the shoulder, shouting, "GO!"

Ben jumped over the red-hot wreckage and burning debris into the ring of black smoke. He struggled to keep his footing and grasped the searing edge of the broken wall for a moment, then leapt through the hole in the wall. He burst through the flames into the fresh air beyond, with Pope close behind him.

Another blast rocked the building. Luckily the explosion was far from where Ben and Pope had gone, and neither of them slowed down as they careened across the searing pavement. As they headed up the hill toward the treeline, Ben helped Pope stay on his feet as often as Pope helped Ben, and Pope no longer protested the support.

When they reached the trees, Ben straightened up and turned around to look behind them.

The hellish blue beamers were hovering above the opposite side of the Harley Davidson dealership. As Ben watched, a yellow missile shot from the lead beamer and blasted a smoking crater in the ground where the fifty caliber machine gun had been.

"We have to keep moving," grumbled Pope weakly, once again gripping Ben's arm. The man's breathing was shallow and harsh.

But Pope's grip on Ben's arm suddenly loosened. He let out a breathy groan and slumped to his knees.

Ben jumped in front of him to catch him from the front, kneeling down and trying to support Pope's weight. His eyes were on the bloody splinter that stuck out from Pope's chest. He knew enough not to try and remove it. It was his turn to carry the whip now... He tried to lift Pope back to his feet, but Pope was too heavy. "Get up!" He shouted hoarsely.

"Get the fuck out of here... Mason.." groaned Pope, allowing Ben to prop him upright on his knees. "Fuck off of me... take more than some ghetto-fucked toothpick... to get in my way..."

Ben glared at him for half a second more. Then without a word he turned and pushed his arm under Pope's, and yanked him forward. He used both hands as he struggled to drag Pope deeper in the forest, leaving a thin trail of blood smudged on the dirt and moss as they went.

"You're a fucking... idiot, kid..." Pope couldn't keep his head up anymore. His eyes rolled back in his head and his eyelids closed as his head dropped, and he went limp.

Ben didn't slow down. Pope's dead weight made it almost impossible to gain ground, but Ben stumbled on for what felt like hours. The thick tree growth muffled the sounds of the explosions, and the battle sounded more and more distant as he went. As the last of the day's light dimmed below the treeline, plunging them into semi-darkness, Ben felt the last remnants of Denny's borrowed energy fade.

He didn't remember the moment his sight went dark, and he fell beside Pope to the forest floor. But he would remember small flashes of what happened next, even if he wouldn't understand them.

Something dragged him slowly along. He bumped over rocks and moss-covered mounds, his legs dragging behind him like sandbags. There was a groan somewhere in his throat, barely there... He didn't have the energy to make the sound.

Someone heaved him up onto a stable surface. A cold, metal surface that jostled a little under his weight.

Pope's leathery smell filled his nose as something was lifted up beside him; a warm something that pressed against his side.

Ben opened his eyes for one strained moment. Disoriented, he turned his head and saw Pope beside him, lying unconscious on the dark, dusty metal. The sound of an engine spluttered to life.

Ben's eyes lost focus, and his world went black once again.

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	16. A Little Trust

My dearest **Hodophile-Sandhiller,** formerly known as the lovely **heather . mcdaniels****: **Ain't quarantine a bitch? Sometimes the muse is there, and sometimes it must be over in Cambodia somewhere. Luckily, for now it's here. ;) Your reviews tickle me and I love them!

**Guest: **I know not your name, fair maiden (?) Handsome prince, perhaps? But I'm glad you're enjoying this story!

Chapter Sixteen

"A Little Trust"

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Ben had no thought in his head for the passing of time. But time wore on, and Ben's dreams entangled with his semi-waking thoughts. Behind his closed eyelids, his memories evoked images of worn, blurry faces and rusted chains. But the voices he heard were not Mike Hana's or Lyle Briggs'... Lips moved in his mind's eye, forming words, but not the right words... And not the right faces.

...Hold him still...

...I got him. Do your thing... I don't think he's going anywhere...

...Be careful of your shoulder...

...It's a scratch, Mother Theresa. Lay off. Whatever that shit is... get it on there while he's still out...

Ben felt chains being adjusted around his chest. But in the strange delirium where he found himself, he had no inclination to fight. He wanted to stay in limbo a little longer... he wanted more blanketing, confusing dreams. Somehow, they offered a measure of peace...

Darkness enfolded his thoughts once more.

...

...

...

"Here."

"Thanks... but you shouldn't lift that yet."

"Christ... I've had almost enough of your goddamn fussing. Why can't you just take the gesture of good will?"

"We can't afford good will, John. We don't know how long we'll be needing that. It could be weeks."

"The battle looked that bad?"

"I only saw it from a distance, but yeah... Worse."

There was a long, drawn-out pause. Then...

"Well it'll take more than a couple flying saucers to kill Tom Mason. He's like me that way."

A soft chuckle. "Look at you, John Pope..."

"Look at me, my ass. It's not a compliment... the Masons are like cockroaches, everyone knows that..."

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...

...

Ben floated somewhere between waking and sleeping. He could still hear voices, but his dreams befuddled him with mismatched constructs of looming figures, and threatening gazes.

Unconsciously, his eyelids fluttered and he rolled stiffly onto his side. He pulled a blanket up to his chin. He stopped moving and his clenched fingers released the blanket, his shoulders relaxing again. He drifted gently back and forth in his mind.

...

...

...

..."How did you know, anyway?"...

..."I saw the flare. I never went far... I never wanted to abandon him. But when I saw the flare I knew he was in over his head. They all were. And when I got there it was too late."...

..."Is he dead?"...

..."I don't know. He could have gotten out of there, like you did..."

...

...

...

"I hate saying it, but I might've been too far up shit creek if you hadn't found us. Me and the kid both."

"Are you thanking me for saving your life?" The voice carried a teasing challenge.

"Saved - ? My - ? Don't push it."

A gentle laugh followed, then faded.

"Look at him, John."

"I know. Motherfuckers really did a number on him..."

"I told him not to."

"'Course you did. I know you. I knew it couldn't have been you..."

"Don't be too proud of me... I tried, but I didn't really do nothing about it - I didn't go back to camp."

..."Don't start with that shit, Craze... what's done is done - isn't that how it goes?"...

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...

...

When Ben's eyes opened he was met with the dim light of early morning. He stared up at the open sky, broken only by the presence of swaying greenery. He blinked once, then twice, and turned his head slightly to the side.

He was in the back of a big, black pickup truck. He lay on a thin rubber mat with a moth-eaten blanket covering him up to his shoulders. His feet stuck out from the bottom and chilly air nipped at his toes.

Pope was asleep beside him on the bed of the truck with a blanket of his own. He lay on his side, facing away from Ben, but Ben would know the scent of Pope's leather jacket anywhere.

Ben sat up slowly. The blanket fell off his chest, and he looked down.

There were no chains in sight, and no blood stains. A pale brown bandage was wrapped around his bare chest and back, covering the wound in his spine. Fading bruises dotted his arms and torso, and someone had changed him into an unfamiliar pair of overlarge jeans.

Ben reached back and touched a spike on the back of his neck. It felt normal... pain and shivers no longer wracked his muscles, though he still felt a little weak. He was stiff, but he was alive. He was free...

With a rush of adrenaline he shoved the blanket the rest of the way off and scooted as quietly as possible to the back of the truck. Using the side of the truck bed for support, he got to his feet and swung a leg stiffly over the lift gate. He landed on his bare feet in the sand.

Sand...?

Ben looked around. The truck was parked on the rocks at the edge of a slow-moving river. It was hidden under cover of the branches of tall pines at the treeline. The river banks sloped steeply downward, except where eddies had formed in the water. In a few places, the swirling eddies had smoothed round beaches of sand into the banks of the river, and the slopes were almost flat.

Ben stared at the river for only a few moments more. Then his wits returned to him with a vengeance. Suddenly, he felt his stomach rumble and his throat burn with thirst.

He glanced back at the truck. Pope was still asleep in the back, and now Ben could see someone else asleep in the cab. A wildly curly-haired someone...

Crazy Lee.

She appeared to be fast asleep against the glass of the passenger door and her breath fogged the window in intermittent puffs.

Ben spotted a black hoodie on the side mirror, apparently hung up to dry, and he grabbed it. Hurriedly, he shrugged his arms into the sleeves and left it unzipped as he made his way down the rocks. He picked up a jog toward one of the flat beaches, holding his jeans up with one hand, and dropped to his knees at the edge of the water.

He cupped his hands and hastily filled them with water. He drank deeply, splashing water over his face as he did, and brought handful after handful to his lips. Again and again he drank his fill, desperate for the cooling liquid as it rushed down his throat. He gulped water until his stomach was tight and distended, and then he kept drinking.

He drank and drank the crisp river water past the point when he could fit no more. Pain lanced through his protesting stomach but he didn't stop. Not until a sharp pain sent him forward to all fours, and he vomited half the water back out onto the sand.

Ben stayed on all fours until his stomach stopped heaving. Then, panting, he wiped his sleeve across his mouth and sat back on his heels, raising his head.

The trees and grasses on the other river bank were silent and unmoving. No wind blew, and only a few birds sang in the treetops as they awoke, accompanied by the occasional trill of a squirrel. Ben took a long, deep breath and welcomed the stillness.

The water had revitalized him, as he had known it would. Feeling stronger, he stood up and turned back toward the truck. But he stopped abruptly in his tracks.

John Pope stood at the edge of the flat beach. He wore his leather jacket with no shirt underneath, and he watched Ben from where he stood. Ben saw there were bandages around Pope's chest, similar to Ben's own, but thicker and stained with new blood.

"Hungry?" Said Pope when he saw Ben turn. He tossed something wrapped in plastic toward Ben, and Ben caught it against his chest.

It was a cereal bar. Ben stared at it for a long moment as memories of the dark room flooded his senses. A harsh cacophony of voices, and a cereal bar being thrown on the floor at his feet... the urgent need to keep his feet under him, and not to show any weakness... but it was so much more important to avoid that black electric prod...

"It's food." Pope's voice broke through Ben's thoughts.

Ben's gaze flickered up again, and there was a glimmer of his dark thoughts hidden in his eyes.

Pope frowned. "You know - food?" He pressed, somewhat dryly. "You eat it. Here, I'll show you." The man walked forward. His feet sunk a little once he hit the sand, and he strode toward Ben.

But Ben took half a step back with a sharp shake of his head, curling his fingers around the cereal bar. "No - I know," he said, fighting a wave of strong distrust. His voice still sounded scratchy. "Thank... thank you."

Pope stopped where he was and watched Ben unwrap the cereal bar. He gave a short nod of his head after Ben took a bite. "Good. We got a long day ahead now that you're awake, Mason."

At first, the food tasted like cardboard in Ben's mouth. Then his taste buds came alive, and his mouth filled with saliva. The sweet, stale cereal bar became his happiest moment in the last few days, and unlike the river water, he savored every last bite until there were only crumbs.

Pope had gone to the water's edge and stepped out of his boots, wading in up to his ankles. "You should've boiled that water," he said without turning around. He bent down and washed his hands in the river.

Ben knew that, of course. But in his hurry to quench his thirst, the risk hadn't mattered, and he had no regret. Instead of answering the man, his watched Pope's back, licking the sugar off his lips and tonguing it out of his cheeks.

Pope pulled off his jacket and tossed it to the sand, then unbuckled his belt and flicked open the button of his jeans. Without an explanation, he stepped out of his jeans and underwear and tossed them on top of his jacket.

Ben glanced upriver and downriver with sudden awkwardness, then back toward the truck. He could barely see Crazy Lee's sleeping head above the door.

He heard yelps and splashing as Pope began to wash in the frigid water. Scratching the side of his head, Ben turned to make his way back up the slope toward Crazy Lee. In that moment, he wanted to choose the devil he somewhat knew.

"Where are you going?" Yelped Pope, splashing icy water between his thighs. "This is the man test!"

Ben kept walking, but Pope called again. "Alright, alright... I'm getting out. I'll let you have the water all to yourself. You need a wash even worse than I do, kid, so get your ass in there." He climbed out of the river and onto the beach, and shook his body like a wet dog. "Crazy Lee washed your jeans a couple days ago, they're waiting at the truck. I'll throw them down to you," he added as an afterthought.

Days? Ben frowned and turned back around with a jolt of concern. "How long did I sleep?"

"Oh, you were out like Sleeping Beauty the better part of seventy-two hours," said Pope casually, using his own jeans to dry himself. "Lee cleaned you up the best she could. That's her work." He gestured to the bandages on Ben's chest.

Ben looked shocked. "Seventy-two - ? Wh - where's the Second Mass?" He burst out, fully facing Pope once more. "What happened in battle?"

"That's the bad news, kid. Or... it will be when we make it back to camp."

Anxiety spiked in Ben's stomach and he took a lurching step forward. "Why haven't we gone back? You should've - we should be there already - "

"Today's the first day both of us are conscious," said Pope in a firm tone, fixing Ben with a stare that warned against argument. "We don't know what we're going to find there. We could be facing an ambush the second we roll into that place, and we have to be ready for whatever shit hits the proverbial fan, if you know what I mean."

Ben rubbed his hand over his face, and shook his head. "This is all wrong," he muttered. "You're with the berserkers... they're not Second Mass anymore, you're not... Second Mass... You couldn't help Denny..." His voice cracked. "Why did you help me?"

Pope leveled a strong gaze right back at Ben. They watched each other without moving for a prolonged beat of tense silence. Then, Pope's gaze faltered and he looked away from Ben. Exhaling, he reached down to pull up his jeans, buttoning them. "Why did you help _me_?" He asked after a moment, turning the question back on Ben without meeting his eyes.

Ben opened his mouth, but closed it again. Why had he helped Pope? Desperation? The lack of allies? Ben didn't have an answer for that. He fell back into silence as the lead berserker shrugged into his leather jacket and put on his socks and boots.

Then Pope straightened up and walked past Ben toward the truck. As he passed, he made eye contact again. "Listen to your girl, Mason... all I'm saying is, give me a little trust. I'm all you got right now."

Then he passed without another word, and disappeared behind the truck. A moment later a pair of jeans came soaring through the air toward the beach. Ben hesitated, then walked forward to pick them up. He stared in Pope's direction at the truck for another few seconds, and then turned back toward the river, deep in thought.

He chose the nearest eddy pool that was sufficiently hidden by grasses and bushes. Beginning what would be the quickest and least pleasant bath of his life, he shed his clothes and waded into the water.

It was like ice on his skin. He gasped out breath after tight breath as he scrubbed himself all over. The pain of the cold was good... as it took over his mind, it forced out other unwanted thoughts and feelings. It helped him take control of the past week, and allowed him to shape the memories of the past week into clearer ideas that made a little more sense. But only a little...

He shuddered at the thought of Mike's untoward advances. He curled forward a little as he splashed his face. For the most part, he pushed those particular memories out of conscious mind as much as he could. None of that would ever make sense... none of it would ever be okay. So he refused it. The agonizingly icy water helped him deny it. He would never think about it again, let alone speak of it...

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	17. The Ruin

Chapter Seventeen

"The Ruin"

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John Pope knew full well what shell shock looked like. He recognized it in the way Ben's eyes grew distant and his complexion paled. He saw how the kid recoiled from him at the water, and he knew he should say something. He didn't like to see that fear in Ben Mason's eyes... Pope himself hadn't known that kind of fear until he was much older than Ben was, and he had long since developed a thick enough skin to survive. He knew Ben didn't have that kind of protection yet, and seeing the echoes of trauma in his eyes assured him the kid had been through hell and back.

But comfort was not John Pope's specialty. As Ben turned away from him, Pope didn't know the right words to say, or when to say them, and his lack of know-how made him angry. All he really knew was that he, Crazy Lee, and Ben Mason were on their own until they could meet up with the rest of the Second Mass.

And when that happened, Pope's reception would depend entirely on Ben.

After yelling at Pope for having gotten the bottom of his bandages wet, Crazy Lee changed the dressings and fixed Pope and Ben some Beanie Weenies for breakfast. They ate them cold; a fire could attract unwanted attention from above or below.

Pope ate half a can easily. He saw Ben draining his own can into his mouth, finishing it, and saw an opportunity to tell himself he was helping the kid. He was still hungry, but he put his half-full can down in the sand and stood, pretending he had eaten his fill. He turned his shoulder to the boy and got up into the truck bed with difficulty to lay down.

Ben glanced at Pope's retreating back. Once the man was out of sight he reached for Pope's unfinished can without question.

For all his talk, Pope was still badly wounded. The morning had exhausted him, and before long he fell into a light sleep in the back of the truck.

The rising sun brightened the small clearing where Crazy Lee had parked. Ben leaned against the truck tire and emptied the second can of beans, then set it down in the sand beside the first. He stared out at the gently drifting river without saying anything to Crazy Lee, who sat nearby.

He wasn't sure how to interact with the woman. He didn't know what to say to her after what Lyle and Mike had done. Every time Ben thought about it, he was filled with renewed distrust and uncertainty. He got closer and closer to making a run for it.

After twenty minutes of silence, Ben risked a glance in Crazy Lee's direction.

She was sitting on a rock near the front headlight, her head slightly bowed. She held her own can of beans in one hand, unopened. She must have sensed Ben's eyes on her because she raised her head and looked over at him, and when she saw him looking she offered him a tentative smile.

Ben thought she looked more uncertain of him than he was of her. He didn't smile back, but after a moment, he cleared his throat. "It was you who... found us in the woods?" He asked her hesitantly.

Crazy Lee nodded her head, her curly hair bouncing slowly around her face. When she opened her mouth to answer it was as though a torrent of thoughts she had been holding onto went rushing out of her. "I tried to talk him out of it. I told him it was wrong," she said in a hushed voice. Her cheeks had gotten red. "I should have gone to the captain, I should have found your dad. I made him promise not to hurt you, but... I knew what he was going to do. He's..." She paused, probably to stop her voice from wavering. "Lyle's not a bad man, Benji..."

Ben's eyes darkened. "Don't call me that," he muttered, looking out to the river again. His neck and face had flushed at her use of Denny's pet name for him. Denny's... it should have been Denny's alone. But now when he heard it, all he could see was Mike Hana's face in his mind's eye.

Ben still hadn't accepted Denny's fate. It wasn't real to him yet, and he pushed back thoughts of it that would threaten his steady facade. Well... steady was how he _hoped _he would appear.

Crazy Lee looked subdued by Ben's sudden darkness, and she waited a moment before she continued. "How - how's your...? How's your back feeling?"

Ben met her eyes again. He had brought himself back under control. "He ripped a spike out of my spine with pliers," he informed her quietly.

At this, Crazy Lee's eyes brightened and shone with unfallen tears. "I know," she said, nodding a few times. "I know, but I told him... I made him promise..." A tear of shame fell down her cheek, and she looked away from Ben. Her curls hid her face from view.

Ben lapsed into silence as well. His eyes found the ripples of the river again and he said nothing else. Not until a loud snore reached his ears from the back of the truck.

Finally, Ben stood up and faced Crazy Lee. "We have to go." His tone sounded softer than he expected it to.

Crazy Lee stood up as well and turned to face Ben once more. There were tear tracks on her face that her hair couldn't hide completely. "Yeah... alright." Ben heard a tremor in her words. "Why don't you get in the back?"

Ben didn't wait to be asked twice. He stepped on the top of the back tire and swung a leg back over the side of the truck, climbing onto the truck bed. He could barely feel the evidence of his injuries anymore, and his muscles felt stronger and surer. His back still hurt, but the pain was nothing compared to what it had been not too long ago.

The noise of his movements didn't wake Pope, who continued to snore as Ben settled on the old wool blanket someone had given him. He stayed as far away from Pope as he could, crowding the very opposite side of the truck bed and keeping his own space.

Pope woke when the truck engine growled to life under them. The man jolted upright, then crunched forward and grabbed his chest with a groan of pain. He gripped the outside of his bandages for a few moments until the pain had passed, and then his eyes found Ben.

Ben stared at him without a word.

A few seconds later, Pope broke eye contact and turned on his blanket. He rapped his knuckles against the rear cab window. "Eh... Craze..."

Crazy Lee reached back to push open the sliding window. "Eh?"

"You shouldn't'a let me sleep." Pope cleared his throat loudly and massaged his chest. "Are we heading out?"

"Yeah," said Crazy Lee as she popped the truck into gear. "Are the guns secure?"

Pope lifted the corner of the black tarp in the middle of the truck bed. Several firearms glinted from an open black duffel in the late morning sun before he covered them again. "Locked and loaded," he said gratingly, and then he looked back at Ben.

Suddenly, Ben became very interested in keeping an eye on their surroundings.

"Hey..." said Pope in an uncharacteristically gentle voice. "You ready for this?"

Ben forced himself to meet Pope's gaze again. He nodded stiffly.

"You sure?" Pressed Pope. His brows were drawn together, and deep lines crossed his forehead. "We have no idea what we're going to find when we get back to camp."

"Well... we have to find out," said Ben. "They could be hurt. They might need help..."

"Or they could be deader than the deadest skitter my cross-hairs ever saw," said Pope bluntly.

Ben's eyes flashed defiantly. "They're not dead," he said with the hint of a growl.

Pope watched him for a minute. Crazy Lee drove them through another clearing toward the road, and Pope seemed to decide against saying anything more on the matter. Instead, he pulled a revolver from under the black tarp and rested it on his thigh, turning his focus to the skies.

The truck bounced over roots and rocks until Crazy Lee pulled out onto the smoother road. Like Pope, Ben kept his gaze trained on the heavens. The sky was peaceful and quiet like the river, with rolling, cotton clouds and a sun-warmed breeze. There were no signs of enemy aircraft or movement on the ground, so the truck picked up speed.

"We're about eight miles or so outside camp," said Crazy Lee loudly through the rear window.

"When we're two miles out we stop and go on foot," answered Pope without taking his eyes off the sky. "Best to take this as quiet as we can..."

If Ben thought the truck ride was silent and awkward, he wasn't at all prepared for the long hike that followed. In the absence of talking, the weight of what they faced pressed down on him ten times harder, and his apprehension about what awaited them only grew.

Crazy Lee had hidden the truck in the shadow of a rocky hillside and the three of them covered it thickly in broad pine branches. Then Pope had armed himself with an AK-47, and handed two sidearms each to Ben and Crazy Lee.

Ben accepted the weapons without comment, and pushed them into his belt at either hip while Crazy Lee secured her own. Pope grabbed the arms duffel from the truck and slung it over one shoulder. The bag looked heavy, but Pope didn't seem to notice.

"Stick to the treeline," said Pope as they started to walk. Those were the only words spoken for the next twenty minutes.

Ben kept his boots light on the curb of the asphalt, and his eyes and ears alert. His heart beat faster with every forward step but he did his best to hide the anxiety from his face. His dad would be alright... they had fought off the Espheni. It would have been a brutal fight, and soldiers would have been lost... But not his Dad. Not Matt, or Hal.

_But they didn't have the berserkers there in battle, _an uninvited voice reminded him. _How could they have won when a third of their men were gone? _

Frustration filled Ben and the bridge of his nose crinkled in refusal. He forced that voice out of his mind with a vengeance. What did that voice know? Nothing. How could it?

Pope must have seen the change in Ben's expression, because suddenly a broad hand was patting Ben firmly on the shoulder. It startled him and he side-stepped, but instantly regretted the flinch. It was a sign of weakness.

"Worry never gave a man what he hoped for," said Pope in an oddly gentle tone. He had promptly taken his hand off Ben's shoulder. "Anger... now there's something that moves mountains, there's something to hold onto."

Ben glanced sideways at Pope as he walked. He shrugged his shoulders to hike up the collar of his jacket, and looked away again. "I'm not angry," he lied. "I just... I just want to get back to camp."

"And we will, Mason. You know and I know it. Crazy Lee knows it. It might be time to prepare for some other facts, too, if you know what I'm saying..."

"Pope," interjected Crazy Lee in a cautious, honey tone. "Not yet, okay? Let's just wait and see." The look she gave Pope warned him against saying anything else, and Pope knew why. The kid had already been through too much. Worry wasn't something any of them needed, Ben most of all, and the only thing that would convince the kid of the truth would be what he saw with his own two eyes. So Pope shut his mouth again, and the trio returned to silence.

They were about ten minutes from camp when Ben first smelled smoke on the air. He lifted his chin and sniffed again as his heart went cold. But it was nothing unexpected; of course there would be smoke after battle, there always was...

"Stop," said Pope suddenly, holding up his hand.

Crazy Lee halted and beside her, Ben reluctantly did the same.

"You hear that?"

Ben listened intently. There were no birds singing here, and the breeze had died down so not even a leaf rustled on a branch. The quiet was almost oppressive. He looked over at Pope. "I don't hear anything," he said quietly.

Pope gave a few slow nods, his eyes ahead. "Yeah... neither do I."

Ben frowned, but then Pope's meaning sunk in. This close to camp, there should be a lot of noise. The Second Mass would be in the midst of cleaning up after battle. They should be hearing the loud sounds of metal on metal as debris was cleared, and the shouted orders from the commanding officer. Captain Weaver's voice carried... so why was there only silence?

Ben's heart unfroze and suddenly adrenaline burned in his stomach and pumped through his veins. With a sharp exhale he lurched forward and started to run toward camp.

"Stop!" Hissed Pope, sounding alarmed. "What do you think you're - ? Mason, stop!"

But Ben didn't hear him. He ran head-long through the trees and barreled up the steep hill that surrounded their camp to the east. Once he crested that hill he would be able to see camp nestled in the little valley below, connected by a four-way intersection of back roads.

Pope swore loudly and abandoned his caution. He started up the hill a few hundred yards behind Ben, with Crazy Lee close behind.

Above them, Ben had stopped at the top of the hill. He stood still as a statue, gazing downward.

"Mason," panted Pope angrily as he hurtled up the slope. "Next time you don't listen to an order - " But Pope stopped talking as he skidded to a halt in the dirt beside Ben. he stared down into the valley, momentarily lost for words.

The ruins of their camp contrasted sharply with the the gentle country scenery. Charred black timbers lay scattered across the valley, and every tent had burned to the ground. The scaffolds around the perimeter had been torn down and burned, and blackened alleyway tarps were strewn among smoldering wreckage and splintered posts. Abandoned weapons glinted in the midday sun, half-buried under ashes in some places. There was no sign of movement.

Ben felt paralyzed. He could no longer hear his heart hammering in his ears, or the rapid breaths in his lungs.

Beside him, neither Pope or Crazy Lee looked half as shocked as Ben did. Pope had a hardened, angry look on his face, but Crazy Lee looked worried.

"This was what I was talking about..." said Pope in a cold undertone.

Ben continued to stare, barely registering the man's words. But a moment later, a returning wave of urgency took him, and sent him sprinting down the hill into the valley.

"This boy - " he heard Pope shout behind him. "I swear to Christ - "

Ben lost his footing at the bottom of the hill but regained it quickly, flying forward. He leaped over the charred remains of the perimeter fence into camp, and his feet met soft, black ashes.

His eyes raked the ruins around him as he moved through camp. He could see singed bodies lying under tarps and sprawled in the dirt, and he knelt over each one. But their faces were too burned to identify them, and he didn't have time to try. He would recognize a Mason if he saw one... He would recognize the captain, he thought. None of these bodies belonged to any of them.

Movement caught Ben's attention out of the corner of his eye. He almost tripped in his hurry to turn around.

At first he only saw more blackened wreckage, smoking slightly. He stared wide-eyed at it, convinced something had moved, but it all looked the same. Ben began to approach, with one hand gripping the handle of the pistol in his belt.

Then he saw it again. Something small and charred raised out of the ashes toward Ben.

With a lurch in his chest he realized it was a hand... an arm. And attached to the arm was a twisted, soot-covered body.

Ben threw himself to the ground at the injured man's side. His hand grasped the man's extended fingers, and his other hand hovered uncertainly over the man's blistering chest, unsure where to touch.

"It's okay," he breathed out, "It's alright now. The battle's over and they're gone..."

The injured man winced at the tightness of Ben's grasp. Ben couldn't tell who he was; fire had burned his hair away and blistered his face beyond recognition. His clothes were torn and scorched, and the skin underneath was red and dry and cracked like overcooked ham.

"P...Po..." wheezed the dying man. He must have lain there for days without water or relief, and his voice sounded like metal scraping over concrete.

Ben leaned closer. "What? I can't understand you," he said quickly. "M-my Dad - Tom Mason, where is he? Where's Captain Weaver?"

The man coughed feebly, and shook his head. When he did, cracks split open on the burned skin of his neck, and blood seeped out. "No..." He grated. It seemed impossibly difficult for him to speak. "No... tell... Pope..."

Ben waited for him to continue, but he was too desperate to wait for long. "Tell Pope what?" He burst out. "Not everyone is here! Where are the rest of them?"

John Pope caught up with Ben at that moment. Dirt and ashes sprayed out from under his heels as he screeched to a halt and stared down at the burned soldier.

The injured man coughed again, splitting more skin along his neck. A blister broke at the corner of his mouth and white liquid spilled down his chin, mingling with congealed blood. "Tell Pope... they took them. Pope... Pope is... acting commander now... and... it's all up to... h-him..."

Pope's nostrils flared as he heard the man's shuddering words. "I'm here," he said in a rush and knelt down beside Ben. He put his hand gently on the man's chest and bent low above him. "Listen to me Tec, you have to tell me... where did they take the survivors?"

Ben glanced at Pope in surprise, then back down at the burned soldier. Apparently Pope had recognized something about this man that Ben had not, but now that Pope said it, Ben could see the thin shape of Tector's blistered nose, and his crooked right incisor.

Tector's body shook as he took a retching breath. He probably hadn't moved at all since the Espheni left, and now his sudden movements were speeding him toward the inevitable. But he kept trying to speak. "Pope," he breathed raggedly. "Pope... find them. Find them... Pope. Give... those alien bastards hell..." He coughed wetly again.

"Where did they go?" Pressed Pope, his voice low and calm. "Tell me, Tector - where?"

"N...north," whispered Tector. "They went... north." Tector's body shuddered once more, and his breathing hitched. Ben kept a hold on the man's hand, and Pope stayed where he was, leaning over Tector's face.

Tector gasped in a breath of air, and then slowly let it out. Ben could hear it rattling through the berserker's raw, burned throat, and the man's chest collapsed downward as his lungs emptied. When the rattling stopped, Tector didn't breathe again.

Tector's face was so badly burned that Ben couldn't see his eyes beneath his swollen lids. But he knew the sound of a death rattle, and he knew Tector was no longer with them. As he watched the man's still face, Ben felt himself sliding into a welcome sense of all-consuming numbness.

His father and his brothers...

Everyone in the Second Massachusetts...

They'd been taken by the enemy.

But Ben's numbness smoothed over his tumultuous mind, and set his expression blank.

Pope looked from Tector to Ben Mason beside him. The boy looked dazed... worse than dazed. The thousand-yard stare was worse than ever. And Pope felt his own version of shock. He blinked a few times and tried to come to terms with what Tector had said, but the words didn't make sense yet.

Acting commander.

That would have to mean he was the only surviving "officer," as Tec had chosen to deem him. The only one who still remained outside the clutches of the Espheni army. That would have to mean he had reached the highest post a soldier of his standing could ever hope for in this alien war, a post that until now had been out of his reach.

And despite the cost that had been paid for this new position, Pope couldn't deny the swelling of pride and purpose in his chest. He knew it was wrong, but he also knew he had been born to lead.

And lead he would.

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**Hodophile-Sandhiller: **I know! I love having a little back and forth with you, too lol. It's makes writing more fun when I know who's reading it. (Ahem... turns a brief, friendly stare in **Guest's** direction.) So was this what you expected, Hodo my love? I hope not! By the way, I love to travel as well. But back to the story - one thing you _can _expect is more Ben hurt/comfort in the next chapter. Some comfort, some hurt... all the good stuff lol. Enjoy!

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I love reviews, let's get that straight, but no more awesome poems await. I just can't summon what it takes to rhyme a few more words of late. Oh wait...


	18. On the Same Side

**Hodophile-Sandhiller: **Oh no! I'm so sorry to kill off your baby. But your baby is the only reason there's hope for the captives - does that comfort you? Lol! This chapter has some comfort, but next chapter will overflow. The plan is in motion so buckle up :P This chap is a little shorter, but only because it sets up chapter twenty.

**Isa ceballos: **Muchas gracias por tu comentario! Me alegra que lo estés disfrutando. :)

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Chapter Eighteen

"On the Same Side"

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They set up camp in the forest about a mile from the ruins of camp. Crazy Lee stowed the truck under a rocky overhang on the hill while Pope and Ben scouted an abandoned shack nearby. The wooden walls were rotting in some places, and gaping holes had crumbled in some spots, but the interior rooms seemed more or less secure.

"Grab that," said Pope to Ben, pointing at a rusted ax that hung on one wall. "Never know when you might need something like that."

Ben remained in a state of relative numbness. He heard Pope's command, but he had no real thoughts of his own. He crossed the sagging floorboards and lifted the heavy ax off the wall. He set it down on a nearby table on which someone had left melted candles and broken bottles of beer.

Ben looked around at the inside of the shack, vaguely registering its contents. A large, stained American flag hung from one wall like a banner, and on the opposite wall the head of a trophy stag was mounted high, its huge antlers polished and smoothed. Pictures had been hung on the walls, but not family pictures. Ben saw framed photos of old muscle cars, and newspaper clippings of horse races and local crime.

There was a large, brick fireplace that contrasted sharply with the rundown appearance of the rest of the house. Ben knew they wouldn't be able to build a fire to keep warm, because any smoke was too much smoke. They couldn't risk signalling the enemy from below.

Pope went to work clearing a few rotted boards from the floor for sleeping quarters. He even used a blanket for his version of sweeping, then lay down their own blankets on the cleared wood, a few feet apart.

Ben simply stood and watched Pope work. His mind wasn't there with Pope in the rundown shack... it was with his Dad, and his brothers. His mind was with Denny. He saw again and again the way her eyes had met his, and how her pale lips had trembled as she spoke. He felt over and over the warm pressure of her life-giving kiss, and the slight weight of her limp body in his arms. He remembered the echoes of gunshots and explosions, but all he could see were the faces of Denny and his family.

But any time Denny's face started to seem clearer in Ben's mind's eye, Mike Hana's face would swim to the forefront. It would laugh and leer at him as it loomed nearer, and Ben would start to feel his arms trembling all over again. He would start to feel Mike's hands on his skin, and Mike's bulky hips pressing down on him...

_No!_

He couldn't afford to think about that. Not when... not when they could all be dead.

_Denny's already dead._

His shoulders gave a shudder and a hard knot formed in his throat.

_And the Espheni have the rest._

But where? Would Hal, Matt, and his father be held as captives, or would they be executed? Would the enemy use their deaths to send a message to humanity?

_No,_ he thought again fiercely. Ben was in control of his own mind; he had to be. So for the thousandth time, he forced his thoughts into order and pushed them down as far as he could.

Amazingly, Pope didn't say anything about the lack of help from Ben. He spared a glance in the boy's direction now and then, but didn't ask him to do anything. The whole time he worked, Pope was trying to think of ways he could get through to Ben Mason. If Pope was going to lead this rescue he needed his subordinates clear and sharp, and at that time Ben was anything but.

When Crazy Lee came in hauling the bags and the duffel, Pope stopped working. Lee put the duffel full of firearms into the back corner of the room and then sat down on her blanket. She pulled out a few more cans of Beanie Weenies and handed them out.

None of them complained about the lack of variety. Ben took his can and held it in his lap, unopened, as the other two dug into their food. Both Pope and Crazy Lee made quick work of their dinner until Lee sent a worried look in Ben's direction.

"Aren't you hungry?" She asked him carefully.

Ben glanced down at the can in his lap. "Yeah... yes," he answered, popping open the lid of his beans. The smell of sweet molasses drifted up to him when he did, but he couldn't have wanted it less. His stomach felt sick and hard, like it was filled with a gut-shaped rock, and nausea threatened him at the thought of eating it.

But he tipped the can up to his lips and pretended to. He tongued a few single beans with each bite, and chewed them for a long time. Lee looked satisfied at the appearance of his actions, and went back to her own meal.

Still, no one really spoke.

All Ben wanted to do was close his eyes and shut out the world. He was so tired and worn... and the escape of sleep would be a welcome one. So when Pope and Crazy Lee put aside their empty cans, Ben wordlessly left the circle and settled down on one of the blankets. He chose the one closest to the door. That way, he would be able to bolt if need be.

John Pope watched Ben retreat to his bedding. His frustration about not knowing what to say only grew, and there were deep lines etched into his forehead again.

Crazy Lee nudged him from the side.

Pope looked at her.

She raised her eyebrows pointedly and shot a glance toward Ben's corner.

Pope frowned more deeply, choosing stubbornness. "What?"

Crazy Lee's eyes widened impatiently and she gave him a shove. "Say something to him," she ordered in an undertone.

Pope glared at her. It was already bad enough with his own conscience on the case. "What am I supposed to say?" He demanded. It was a genuine query.

"I don't know. You led the berserkers and they're the ones that took Ben. If you don't start talking, he'll _never_ trust your chapped ass." Crazy Lee shifted so that her back was toward Ben's hunched form, and she leaned closer to Pope. "I don't know what you should say, but say _something. _Tell him it'll be okay, and that he's not alone... anything."

"I don't know if it's going to be okay," argued Pope with a shake of his head. "I can't lie to the kid. Anyway... words are weak. What's that saying about actions being the loudest?"

"Then act too, but right now you have to talk. Tell him it had nothing to do with you. Make sure he knows without a doubt... make sure he knows the whole story."

Pope inhaled slowly and let out the breath, staring at Crazy Lee. He knew she was right - that was the most frustrating part. And even after Lee's input Pope felt no closer to knowing the best thing to say.

And the whole story? Pope himself would probably never learn the whole story. At least not all sides... The details of what had happened to Ben would probably always be a well-guarded secret, only visible for fleeting moments in the shadow of the boy's eyes.

"I'll try," surrendered Pope finally. "But Craze... you know me..."

"Yeah, I know you," Crazy Lee agreed with a firm nod of her head. "I know if something's delicate you'll break it just to see its pieces. And I know if somethin's not tied down you'll steal it. But I know you're a good man, John. Don't lie to me for another second. Under all the bullshit there's a good man, and he's not even that well-hidden."

Pope glared wordlessly at her. Why did Lee have to talk like that? How did she have such a way with words? Maybe she should be the one trying to talk to the kid, not Pope.

But he knew Crazy Lee was right. As the former leader of the berserker's, and the current commanding officer of the Second Massachusetts, Pope had to be the one to establish some trust. After all, the boy might very well be the last surviving member of the Mason clan. Razorback or not, Pope could use someone of his talents.

Without saying another word to Crazy Lee, Pope got to his feet. He stretched his arms and shoulders gingerly, rolling his injured shoulder a little in its socket, and headed over to Ben.

Ben looked up when Pope approached. He didn't look happy to see him.

Pope gave him an awkward nod, and sat down on the middle blanket. He started to take off his boots. "Plug your nose, Mason..." He said with an uncertain half-grin. "These feet saw a motherfucker of a day..."

Ben looked away from Pope. The kid had been carving letters into the wood floor with a small dagger, but Pope couldn't read what he'd written from here.

Pope cleared his throat. He kicked his boots away from his blanket and took off his jacket, thinking.

_Now what?_

Ben peered sideways at Pope with a suspicious expression. "What are you doing?" He asked with a frown.

Pope gestured at himself. "What do you think? You're not the only one who needs his beauty sleep, princess."

Ben leaned forward over his knee and resumed his carving of the soft wood floor.

_Alright,_ thought Pope. So this would all be up to him. That was what he was worried about.

He gave it another minute or so, and then Pope cleared his throat again. "Look... Mason," he began. He thought the awkward sound of his own voice must be agonizing. He longed for the tough exterior he had carefully cultivated for so long... but it would do him no service here, that much he knew. "I just want to make sure you know how it is."

Ben's fingers paused and he stopped carving for a moment, without looking up.

Encouraged, Pope continued, "Those weren't any orders of mine. The berserkers went rogue, and they took chain of command. If I'd'a known what they were doing, I would've had them shot for desertion one by one, treasonous fucks..." He trailed off with a glance at Ben, then went on. "And now they're all as good as dead, and I need to know you'll fight with me. I need you to be clear, Mason... We're on the same side."

_We're on the same side..._

When Pope said that, Ben's eyes narrowed briefly, but Pope could only see the side of his face. "That's what I told your friends before they chained me up," muttered Ben.

"When I say it, here, now, it's true," said Pope firmly, pressing the point.

"You could be lying," said Ben. His voice had gotten quieter and he still wouldn't look at Pope.

Pope's expression darkened and his eyes flashed dangerously. "I'm not a liar, Mason," he growled, but then seemed to gentle himself. "Anyone who knows anything about me knows there ain't a whole lot I wouldn't do, except lie. I'll never tell you a lie."

Ben lowered his chin. His voice was almost too quiet to hear. "Yeah, well I don't know that... I don't know anything about you."

Pope was stumped, but only for a moment. "You will," he urged. "By the end of this march north you'll probably know more about me than any berserker."

The muscle in Ben's jaw twitched.

"So listen to me, Ben... please."

Maybe it was Pope's use of Ben's first name that made the difference, or maybe it was the 'please', but Ben raised his head again and looked at Pope.

"What happened to you never should've happened," said Pope as he held Ben's gaze. "This whole thing was the goddamn devil, I know that, and you know that." He paused, then forged ahead. "Maybe you should think about telling me what happened in that dealership, kid... And get that devil off your back."

Ben's gaze wavered. He tried to keep eye contact, but he couldn't bring himself to look at Pope any longer. He looked back down at his carvings, and put down his knife. "Nothing happened," he said half-heartedly. Abruptly, he pulled his blanket over his lap. "I have to sleep."

Ben turned away from Pope and lay on his side without removing any of his clothing. He pulled the blanket up to his shoulder and stared at the dark front wall.

Pope didn't move for a few long beats. He watched Ben's back, which rose and fell with carefully controlled breathing. Then he looked across the dark room at Crazy Lee.

Her eyebrows pulled together in a reassuring frown of concern as she stared back at him. Lit by the melted candles on the table, her face seemed to say, _It's okay, John. You tried. Next time you have to try harder._

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The next chapter contains epic levels of comfort ;) Be warned. Ben can't keep all that trauma locked away in his head forever... it'll find a way out on it's own.


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